


A Mystic Bond of Brotherhood

by bittenfeld



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bonding, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, M/M, Male Slash, Pon Farr, Ritual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 62,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3214445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Spock's time of Pon Farr, and with the ship in quarantine, and no Vulcan females around, there’s only one person Spock can turn to for assistance…</p><p>Final – Chapter 25:  Kirk felt Spock’s essence inside himself in a profound manner which he’d never had before… damn, he wanted that first-officer of his!...<br/>… Jim… you must shield your thoughts… I cannot do my job… please refrain from such ideas, at least until after shift, and then we shall speak again…<br/>… we’ll do more than speak… Kirk teased all-too-devilishly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have deliberately made the humans more homophobic, so that’s a large barrier that Kirk and McCoy have to overcome.
> 
> Also, this story makes reference to their capture by the Klingons from my previous fics, "The Medicine of Life" and "The Balm of Love".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock's frown was serious. “I realize that this is most inopportune timing, but I must remind you that tomorrow is my 56th birthday.”  
> “That’s right, your birthday!” A surprised smile banished Kirk’s frown of concern. “Well, congratulations, Spock. You’ve finally decided to let us throw you a party, is that it? Well, what flavor ice cream would you like?”  
> “You misunderstand, Admiral. I have no interest in any type of celebration. This is my 56th year – a seventh year.”  
> “Oh.” Kirk breathed, and then the smile faded with delayed enlightenment. “Oh. Pon Farr.” Concern increased. “Oh god, Spock. Now?”

Lounging on the large double-bed, Jim Kirk looked up from his book when the door buzzer sounded.

“Admiral, this is Spock,” the voice of his first-officer announced. “May I enter?”

With a smile, Kirk laid the book aside on the plant-decorated window ledge behind the head of the bed, and sat up. “Come in,” he offered.

The front wall of the quarters, a thick sheet of one-way translucent smoked plexiglass slid halfway open, and the Vulcan officer stepped into the sitting room **/** foyer. The wall hummed shut behind him.

“Well, good evening, Spock,” Kirk greeted from the bedroom, smiling through the latticed divider at the robed Vulcan who stood rather stiffly by the small conference table in the outer room. “C’mon in. Care to join me for a little brandy tonight?”

“Thank you, no, Admiral,” Spock declined, entering the large well-appointed bed-chamber. “Admiral, there is an urgent personal matter which I must discuss with you, if this is an appropriate time…”

“Of course.” Kirk indicated a nearby chair. “Please… sit down.”

Spock moved over to the chair, his heavy blue satin robe swaying gently as he walked. He sat down on the edge of the chair, body shifting forward in a relaxed but alert pose.

A slight frown creased Kirk’s brow when his adjutant didn’t speak right away. “Is something wrong, Spock? something I can help you with?”

“Yes, Admiral.” Spock's frown was more serious. “I realize that this is most inopportune timing, but I must remind you that tomorrow is my 56th birthday.”

“That’s right, your birthday!” A surprised smile banished Kirk’s frown of concern. “Well, congratulations, Spock. You’ve finally decided to let us throw you a party, is that it? Well, what flavor ice cream would you like?”

Spock's puzzled seriousness increased. “You misunderstand, Admiral. I have no interest in any type of celebration. This is my 56th year – a seventh year.”

“Oh.” Kirk breathed, and then the smile faded with delayed enlightenment. “Oh. Pon Farr.” Concern increased. “Oh god, Spock. Now?”

“Yes, Admiral. Pon Farr. It will start tomorrow and continue for seven days. As you know, I should be back on Vulcan to complete the rites.”

“But the quarantine…”

“Precisely, Admiral. Because of the quarantine, I am unable to leave. Therefore I must discuss an alternative with you.”

Kirk felt the bottom shift out from under him – if he had needed one more disaster to complicate his existence right now, this would be it. The ship quarantined because a third of the crew had come down with some unknown but savage virus, Enterprise sitting dead in the water anyway for over a month now, right on the edge of Romulan territory because of a breakdown in the engines’ induction system… And now this.

“Oh god, Spock,” he echoed himself. “Oh god. Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

A lift of Vulcan eyebrow indicated the apparent irrelevance of such a question. “What would have been the advantage? Five weeks ago I assumed that I would be able to take leave on Vulcan. Then we were put on quarantine and there was no way to go.”

“Well, we might have had more of a chance to think up an alternative. I’m correct, am I not, that Pon Farr is a life-and-death matter for Vulcans?”

“You are correct, Admiral. But I saw no cause to concern you needlessly. I took the responsibility to research all other possibilities before approaching you.”

Kirk was feeling more and more weary, closer to overload. So many life-and-death disasters weren’t supposed to happen this close together. “There are no Vulcan females aboard this ship, you know,” he reminded.

”I am quite well aware of that, Admiral.”

“… And none can come aboard while we are under quarantine.”

“I am also aware of that.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

Spock leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. The blue satin enveloping his long lean body shimmered in the lamp-light. He measured his words. “The ritual partner need not be a Vulcan; as you are well aware, my mother is human.”

“Of course,” Kirk agreed. “Well, then, are there any women aboard who would be, uh, appropriate?... I’m sure you realize that Christine Chapel has always had more than just a professional interest in you. Perhaps…"

But Spock was shaking his head. “No, Admiral. I am aware of Doctor Chapel’s interest. I respect her very much and I appreciate her respect of me. However, she and I are not, and never shall be, bonded deeply enough to join in Pon Farr together. Because the ritual bonds the partners at the most profound levels of their beings, they must already be bonded as closely as possible on shallower levels. Naturally, for a husband, the partner would be his wife. However, I have no wife. Therefore I must unite with a friend.”

“But who?” Kirk inquired. “You have no deep relationships with any women aboard this ship. Where will you find somebody?”

Spock's dark eyes gazed directly at Kirk. “I do have two very deep bonds of friendship on this vessel: with Doctor McCoy – and with you. Admiral, I am sorry, but I see no other solution that to request of you…”

“Request what?” Sudden suspicion glittered in hazel eyes.

Embarrassment flushed Spock's face a greener undertone. “Jim, please… I…”

“Request what, Spock?”

Spock's gaze dropped. “I respectfully request, Admiral, that you assist me in the Pon Farr ritual.”

“Spock, no!” Kirk’s own embarrassment tightened his body upright. The unexpected import of his friend’s announcement flustered him in a rush of adrenalin. A too-specific vision of impropriety spread before his imagination, and he frowned an intense frown of concentration at the Vulcan. “Are you attempting to suggest a… liaison… between us? Spock, that’s not possible!” And then close behind the first vision, flared a second image in Kirk’s mind: the obscene memory of a starship captain forced to his knees before a Klingon commander, brutally coerced to submit to violation… “No, Spock,” he insisted. “That’s not an acceptable solution at all!” The old neuropathy touched off muscle tremors once again – damn, he hadn’t had the neural tics for over six months now, why should they return at this particular time? The old horror replayed behind his eyes in pitiless clarity.

With an abrupt surge of will, he interrupted the grotesque memories and redirected his attention to his Vulcan friend seated next to the bed. A tight breath escaped his nostrils. “There’s got to be another answer, Spock. That one is not allowable… I’m sorry, but I can’t… do… that…”

At the sight of Kirk’s tremors and countenance of remembered nightmare, Spock had stiffened abruptly in embarrassment, suddenly reading Kirk’s mind and recalling Kirk’s tribulations during their Klingon capture. He pushed up from his chair. “Forgive me, Jim,” he quickly apologized. “In my own concerns, I had forgotten your… incident. I beg forgiveness. I shall not trouble you further.”

Kirk raised a protesting hand. “That’s all right, Spock,” he reassured Spock's chagrin, “it’s not your fault… That incident is past history, I shouldn’t still be thinking of it. And of course I realize that you are not speaking of that type of… situation. But even with regards to what you _are_ suggesting, Spock, surely there must be other possibilities open to you.”

“There are none, Admiral.”

“Are you sure? Is it really true that Vulcans die if they are unable to… fulfill their mating need? Is it actually that serious?” Kirk’s gaze followed the Vulcan, as Spock stepped to the large oval window at the head of the bed and stared out at the star-speckled forever-night sky.

The lean severe robed figure stood silent for a few heartbeats. Kirk could still sense his own three-year-old nightmare hovering at the edges of his conscious discipline, nightmare of torture-damaged nerves, violated manhood.

Finally Spock answered him, voice calm and level, “Yes, Admiral, it is that serious. Terrans and Vulcans are very much alike in many ways; however there are a number of striking dissimilarities, and this is one of them. Mating is not simply the brief pleasurable act for Vulcans that it is for humans. Our very life-force is tied up in the performance of the act. We are not given the choice of optional celibacy. When our bodily processes prepare for sexual bonding, we either obey or we die. There is no alternative.”

Kirk’s brow creased. “Well, I don’t see that _I_ can accommodate you, and both of us know damn well that McCoy won’t. So, we will have to find you an alternative, Spock, or we will make one.” And swinging his legs off the bed, Kirk crossed the bedroom in three strides out to the sitting area and over to the desk intercom on the conference table. “Doctor McCoy,” he paged, “report to the captain’s quarters immediately.”

Spock approached him, hands clasped behind his back. “I have already checked into the regulations, sir. There is no procedure which covers a situation such as this. I also notified Starfleet Command, but they had no suggestions. It appears that this type of situation has never arisen before.”

“It must have,” Kirk insisted. “With so many Vulcans assigned to Federation ships, it has to have arisen before.”

Spock could merely acknowledge helpless lack of information by a slight shrug.

The door buzzer hummed.

“Come in, Doctor,” Kirk invited.

Leonard McCoy entered, his curious gaze shifting between the two men already in the room. Evidently he had just come from surgery – he hadn't changed from scrubs, and his usual medicinally clean scent wafted stronger than normal. Grey-brown hair brushed across his weathered forehead lightly spangled with sweat. “Jim, Spock,” he greeted. “What can I do for you?”

Kirk leaned back against the desk, arms and ankles crossed. He didn’t want the doctor to see that the muscle twitching had returned. “We’ve got a problem, Bones. We need your input.”

“Sure, whatever I can help you with.”

“Tomorrow is Spock's 56th birthday.”

McCoy’s face brightened, as he didn’t catch on immediately. “Well, that’s great, Spock. In a few years, you’ll even pass me.”

“Pon Farr, Doctor,” Spock reminded McCoy, ignoring the doctor’s small attempt at humor. “Otherwise I would not have mentioned it.”

Sudden serious revelation washed over McCoy’s face, as it had Kirk’s earlier. A long sigh escaped his lips. “Please, Spock, this is a bad time for a joke. Damn bad time. there’s no way with the quarantine that we can get you back to Vulcan. And in any matter, we couldn’t get you there by tomorrow anyway. What are you going to do?”

“That’s why I called you,” Kirk announced. “If you have any suggestions, Bones, we’d like to hear them – and as soon as possible, please.”

McCoy’s pale blue gaze studied the two men standing before him as he considered the situation thoughtfully. He sure in hell didn’t need another emergency on top of the rising epidemic on the ship. Four more crewmen had been stricken that day, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than an hour’s sleep at a stretch. Another major disaster he could really do without.

Kirk gestured with a suggestion. “Perhaps if Spock does not test positive to the virus, Starfleet will allow him to break quarantine… after all, regulations do state that nothing shall interfere with any Vulcan crewmember’s time of Pon Farr.”

“Unfortunately,” Spock interjected, “quarantine overrides that regulation. Besides, the suggestion is irrelevant anyway. I did test positive as a carrier of the virus, Admiral.  Nor, as Doctor McCoy pointed out, could I reach Vulcan by tomorrow even if I were allowed to leave right now in a shuttlecraft.”

McCoy found himself a chair. “Well, have either of you come up with any possibilities?”

“Bones… is there any kind of… drug or vaccine that you could give to Spock that would… delay this process until we can get out of here?”

“No.” Spock responded before McCoy could speak. “Any attempt to regulate the process would kill me, like trying to contain a chain-reaction explosion.”

“He’s right, Jim. I’m not a specialist in Vulcan medicine or sociology, but as I understand Pon Farr, it really is something like a chain-reaction explosion. Although Vulcans maintain that they have no emotion, they do, as we both very well know. Oh, it’s not like ours exactly – but it’s there. But rather than expressing and releasing feelings and passions daily, constantly, as we do, they bury them. Something about their physiology absorbs these emotions and stores them – like a capacitor – until at the end of every seven-year cycle, the capacitor overloads, and all this pent-up energy must come out, and seven-years’ worth of passion is released in seven days. It’s triggered by an endocrine signal, similar to the way the human pituitary gland controls our time-clocks. To interfere would cause something akin to a misfire, so the misdirected energy would still be expressed, but in a very harmful, probably fatal, manner.” The doctor glanced from Kirk to the Vulcan officer listening. “Did I explain that all properly, Spock?”

“A poor analogy, but as well as a non-Vulcan could,” Spock allowed.

“This… release of energy,” Kirk mentioned uneasily, “includes sexual appetites… passions…”

McCoy shrugged. “Of course. Sexual emotions are the most powerful feelings there are. The release not only includes sexual energy but is actually dominated by it.”

“I beg to differ with you, Doctor,” Spock interrupted, moving over closer to the medic’s chair. “While it is true that physical intercourse is a very powerful channeling of our energy during Pon Farr, it is not the most powerful. Mental and spiritual energies – the depths of which, you as humans do not fathom – are generated and shared in a mutual communion with one’s partner, so profound and mystical that the two become conjoined as a single unit: one body, one mind, one soul. It is so much more, Doctor McCoy, that a simple case of over-active hormones. Pon Farr is the greatest expression of ourselves in the very depths of our beings – an emotional depth which you so-called ‘emotional’ humans have rarely even sensed in yourselves. Only perhaps your saints and your mystics have come anywhere near to experiencing the plumbless depths where our true selves actually abide.”

“Gentlemen.” Opening a nearby cupboard, Kirk found a half-full bottle of brandy, and poured three glasses. “This is all very interesting medically and philosophically. But it’s not answering our primary question which is: how can Spock properly perform this ritual while being stranded here on the Enterprise without another Vulcan available? We need to know before tomorrow. Any suggestions are most welcome at this time.”

McCoy took the proffered drink. “Well, of course, it’s no secret that Chapel would like to…”

“That is out of the question.” Spock glanced up at Kirk. “As I mentioned previously to the admiral, Doctor Chapel and I share mutual admiration and respect. But that is not enough for mate-bonding. Pon Farr can only be undertaken by two people who already share a deep sense of commitment.”

“Yes, but Spock, how many people aboard this ship do you have such deep feelings for?”

“There are two Doctor, with whom I could conceivably initiate the rites.”

“And who might those two be?”

“Guess.” Kirk caught McCoy’s eye. He tried to control the involuntary tremors in his hands. “Us. Us, Bones. You and I.”

“What?” Blank confusion registered on the older man’s face, followed quickly by startled realization. “Us? Oh, now, wait a minute, Spock. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“I know precisely what you think it means, Doctor McCoy.”

“Well, just as I explained to the captain the Vulcan significance of Pon Farr, let me enlighten you now regarding the Earth concept of homosexuality.”

“You needn’t bother, Doctor. I am fully aware what it means to a so-called ‘normal’ human male. You are missing _my_ point, that the communion of Pon Farr extends far beyond the shallow concepts of gender, race, and age. At the levels which Pon Farr reaches, the individual is neither male nor female, neither young nor old… but rather Pure Being, expanding into Absolute Infinity… a merging, if you will, with Totality.”

“What about the kids?” McCoy interjected a little sharply. “Since this ‘mystical experience’ of yours is also synchronized to the seven-year Vulcan fertility cycle, it seems a shame to waste the opportunity by sharing it with another ‘Pure Being’ who, on less profound levels, just happens to be another male just like yourself. You know – survival of the species and all those minor details. Isn’t that logical, Mister Spock?”

“Undeniably so, Doctor McCoy. Which is why Pon Farr is properly meant to be undertaken only by husband and wife. However, I have no wife, nor am I able to return to Vulcan where a suitable alternative might be arranged. Therefore, the only possible solution for me this time is to undertake the ceremony with a very close friend… But please do not worry yourself, Doctor – I did not intend to ask you, as I had already surmised your opinion on the subject. The admiral only requested your presence here now because he thought you might have some ideas that we had not yet considered.”

“The admiral…” McCoy’s gaze flickered to Kirk, then back to the Vulcan. Accusation flared in his face and voice. “You just said that Jim and I are the only ones you could perform this rite with. So, if you aren’t going to ask me, that means you intend to involve him. Mister Spock, may I remind you that you are speaking of compromising your superior officer, the commander of this vessel?”

“And… as commander of this vessel,” Jim Kirk entered the heating conversation to quietly remind his Chief Surgeon, “it is my duty to attend to the welfare of each member of my crew – human or Vulcan.” He frowned at the doctor. “Bones,” he urged gently, quietly, “you know this means life or death for Spock – literally. There’s no other choice… you know that.”

“Jim, do you know what you’re saying?” McCoy looked taken aback a step or two. He stared intently at Kirk, and Kirk knew that the physician-gaze was seeing more than Kirk wanted it to see. The doctor chose his words carefully. “Jim, you know I care about Spock as much as you do. I don’t want anything to happen to him, and I realize we’re talking about his life or death. But I don’t want anything to happen to you either. You can’t… do that with him. And I’m not just talking about social impropriety. There’s a real danger of psychological trauma in something like this… detrimental emotional bonding that can hurt you both, not only because you’re both males, but also because you two are the commanding officers of this ship. This is going to affect your personal lives, and it’s also going to affect the performance of this vessel. It’s a very hazardous situation.”

“It’s already hazardous – Spock's life is at stake!”

Pale eyes flashed. “I said I know that, Jim! But you called me here to ask my opinion, so I’m giving it. Dammit, I don’t want either of you to get hurt. Please think about it very seriously before you make any final decision.”

Kirk reached for his friend’s shoulders. “Bones. What other choice do Spock and I have, than us… doing this together? If you have any other suggestions, please, by all means, enlighten us.”

The intense gaze continued to study him. The doctor wasn’t missing anything of Kirk’s unspoken words. But then he shrugged surrender. “No, I don’t have any other suggestions. It just… shouldn’t come to this.”

Kirk’s grip tightened gently. “Please, Bones. Try to understand. I’m sure that Spock doesn’t wish to be involved in this embarrassment any more than I do. But it’s a last resort for a desperate situation. I’ll admit, I never considered that something like this would be a part of my job duties when I accepted command. But now that the… emergency… has arisen, it falls to me to deal with it to the best of my ability. Because I _am_ the captain. Please understand, Bones. I’ll need your support more than ever this coming week… we both will.”

McCoy’s gaze passed from one man to the other, then he lifted resigned shoulders, gave a quick nod. “I… accept your decision, Admiral.” And then penetrating stare locked purposefully onto Kirk. “… And should you not be able to carry through with it at any time, Jim, I will, if Spock wants me to…”

“Thank you, Bones, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“All right.” McCoy rose from his chair and started for door, then hesitated to look back at his two friends. “You know where to find me if you need me… if either of you need me.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock acknowledged.

And then, when McCoy had left, Kirk strolled back to the bed and sat on the edge while Spock stood close. Kirk looked up at the tall Vulcan officer hovering over him, that same frown ghosting the human’s face, lips tugged at the corners, a slight shake of the head. “Spock…”

“Jim. I do not make this request lightly.”

“I know.” Kirk looked down, reached a quivering hand up to rub his brow, as he admitted, “This is extremely difficult for me, Spock.”

“I understand. It is difficult for me too. This is not… a truly acceptable method for engaging in the rite, but in this situation, I see no other option. However, I shall withdraw my request if you so desire.”

“And do what – die?”

“Admiral, I am… sorry if I have disturbed you… I have no desire to cause you distress.”

A helpless shrug of shoulders. “You know, Spock, I would be willing to give my life for you at a moment’s notice if necessary…”

“I know that, Jim. And I for you.”

“… so I don’t know why I’m hesitating over this…”

“You consider the conjoining of two males to be socially… unacceptable.”

“… to put it mildly…” Kirk agreed.

Spock strolled slowly around the bed to the other side. His face, lined and weathered by maturity, creased with deepening seriousness. “Doctor McCoy does not seem to understand the gravity of the matter to Vulcan society and culture.”

“How could he? Vulcans are noticeably reticent regarding their religious rituals, particularly the Pon Farr. I don’t understand it myself.”

“Pon Farr is an extremely private experience for the participants. It is not discussed openly with outsiders.”

“Do you mind discussing it with me and McCoy?”

“No, Jim. These are unusual circumstances.”

Kirk looked down over his shoulder toward the Vulcan across the bed. “Bones meant no disrespect. Homosexuality is not something that most humans discuss openly… it is considered a taboo subject for the majority of the human race…”

“It is even more serious than that for the Vulcan race,” Spock noted. “As the doctor himself mentioned briefly, Pon Farr is very intimately connected with the survival of our species. Because Vulcans engage in sexual relations for only one week every seven years, it is of the greatest urgency that conception result if at all possible. If not, the Vulcan race will gradually become extinct, our culture will be lost. To… waste seed… by spilling it with another male is almost unthinkable to a Vulcan. It puts our entire species at risk.”

Kirk shifted position on the bed to meet Spock’s gaze directly. “Then this present situation is probably even more distasteful to you than to me.”

Spock did not reply; eyelids lowered momentarily.

“Tell me, Spock. You say that celibacy is not an option for Vulcans. And yet there must be some unmarried Vulcans – like you. What do… bachelors, widowers… do to fulfill Pon Farr?”

A sudden frown tightened Spock's face as though the question cause some private inner pain. Pulling up a nearby chair, he sat near the head of the bed. “The vast majority of Vulcans are paired. I am a part of a very small minority. When a Vulcan has no mate, he must go to the temple for Pon Farr, and there he may be joined by a priestess who synchronizes with his fertility cycle. If there are none who coincide, then either a priest or priestess may engage in the ritual, and the seed is preserved and stored, to be used in the event of a genocidal emergency.”

“Spock,” Kirk offered, “if it would make you feel better, we could ask Doctor McCoy to… assist, and preserve your seed for you to take back to Vulcan after the quarantine is lifted.”

But Spock shook his head. “Thank you, no, Jim. This situation is already extremely awkward. I do not wish to make it more so.”

“Yes… of course,” Kirk agreed. Again he looked up into Spock’s dark quiet eyes. “But now, you are certain… you do want to go through this… with me…”

“Yes, Admiral, if I may request that of you. However, I have no wish to distress you…”

Spock's intense serious gaze did not waver from Kirk’s eyes. Kirk watched his old friend. How much they had been through together in the past twenty-eight years, from young adulthood to mature middle-age, from endless dreary years in uneventful inter-galactic travel to moments of adrenalin-pumping battle. They had even literally gone through hell together – Klingon hell. The love Kirk felt for the man sitting a few feet away was closer than brother-love, closer perhaps than even ego-love. But to join in a homosexual experience…?

Thoughtfully Kirk nodded, ignoring the frantic hum of warning alarms in his head. Command sometimes meant acting on the mandatory now, and assessing the unavoidable damage later. At least in this case, this was one command decision which didn’t hazard the ship or the crew.

“All right,” he finally acceded, “very well, Spock, we’ll do… what you request.”

Spock's gaze dropped slightly in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Jim. I shall attempt to make this as innoxious for you as possible.”

“And thank you, Spock… Of course, you’ll have to guide me through it all… I know nothing of what is… necessary for the enactment of your ritual.”

“Of course. I would not expect you to.”

“When do you wish to begin?”

“If it is acceptable to you, I would appreciate your presence in my quarters at 20:00 hours tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be there, Spock.”

Then rising from his chair, Spock moved toward the door. “Then I shall take my leave of you now, Admiral. Sleep well, Jim. I trust that tomorrow will be otherwise uneventful.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk still had two hours to pass before Spock expected him. He’d lie down for awhile, take a nap – as he certainly didn’t expect to get any sleep tonight – then he’d shower and shave and get as ready as he could for his first experience of Vulcan sexual practices.

McCoy took one turn around the floor before allowing himself another rare half-hour rest period. Of the 167 very sick patients, twenty-three were on life-support – as many as he had life-support stations for – and over twice that number were in stasis. Those were the most critical: all he could do for them was to put them into suspended animation until he somehow miraculously discovered the cure to this hellish epidemic. So far, eleven people had died. Those had been very sudden attacks, and most of them died before anyone knew they were sick, so by the time they were discovered, it was too late to put them into stasis. One of those deaths had been Doctor Elliott, four others were nurses and med-techs. And with a number of other medical crew personnel incapacitated by the virus, all of Sickbay was left in the hands of McCoy and Chapel and a skeleton crew of techs. Engineering had also been hit hard for some unknown reason.

McCoy was weary. Very very weary. How soon before it got him and Chapel? And then what would the rest of the ship do? Back on earth, the Surgeon-General’s office was working diligently too, but so far they had made as little progress as the labs aboard the ship.

At least Kirk hadn't gotten sick yet. Nor had Spock. Maybe Vulcans were immune. McCoy hoped so. If Spock came down with the virus, McCoy would contact Dumaka M’Benga, his colleague on the Exeter, to consult his specialized knowledge of Vulcan medicine. Doctor M’Benga was the foremost human specialist in the field of Vulcan medicine and physiology.

An inner light glowed in McCoy's eyes. Vulcan physiology. He had a question for Dumaka right now. If anyone could come up with a viable solution to Spock's present predicament, M’Benga could. There simply had to be another solution that they had just overlooked. Anything but the admiral and Spock having sex together. Anything but that.

He entered his office; punched up Communications on the intercom.

“Uhura here,” the comm officer responded. Her voice sounded as tired as McCoy felt. She was working past her regular shift again today, but that was par for the course these days, what with everyone having to fill in for their absent comrades.

“Uhura, this is McCoy,” he announced. “Listen, I know it’s late, but could I get you to contact the Exeter and have Doctor M'Benga paged? It’s urgent, I’ve got to speak with him right away. Patch him through to my office when you reach him.”

Her voice seemed to gain a little more life. “Of course, Doctor, I’ll do it right now.”

“Thanks, Uhura.” McCoy hoped that her tiredness was simply fatigue, and not the onset of the virus. So far, luckily, for whatever reason, the bridge crew hadn’t been hit nearly as hard as some other sections.

Surely M’Benga would know of some acceptable solution to Spock's crisis. There had to be one. But if he didn’t, then McCoy would just call someone else until he got some workable answers. He was even willing to contact Vulcan itself, if he thought anyone there would be willing to discuss the matter with him.

It had been a hell of a topic to broach to the admiral. Why had Spock done it? For godsake, how could he have been so insensitive or forgetful? Beyond the obvious impropriety of propositioning his commanding officer, how the hell could he possibly have overlooked the fact that Kirk had sustained sexual trauma at the hands of Krugh and the Klingon guards before? McCoy himself had been brutally injured then, as had Spock, necessitating months of hospitalization and recuperation. But as bad as it had been for the two of them, it had been far worse emotionally for Kirk. The humiliating physical and mental violations had very nearly cost him his command abilities. But slowly he had re-gathered what strength of will had been left him, and somehow had gotten himself through it. The only visible traces that had lingered were the involuntary muscle tremors in his limbs, reminders of the fiendish needle electrodes used in his joints; and even those had gradually diminished over time and were hardly noticeable any longer.

Until tonight. Obviously something had disturbed Kirk very deeply, causing the tics to reoccur.

Damn that Vulcan carelessness with other people’s feelings!

The intercom buzzed.

“Doctor McCoy,” Uhura called, “I have Doctor M’Benga on the video-link.”

McCoy switched on the viewing screen. “Thanks, Uhura. Put him through.”

  
* * * * *

If only Spock's last words had come to pass. But instead of rolling along uneventfully, duty-shift turned out to be nothing less than a sequence of sanity-testing disasters.

At 9:02 hours, all the plumbing on B-deck stopped functioning. At 11:26, two more crewmen on the bridge came down with the virus and were sent to sickbay which already had an overload of patients lining the corridor. At 12:38, Spock launched into a nine-minute non-stop rage, startling the entire bridge crew, then spent the next three-quarters of an hour vacillating between irate outbursts and tranquil gaiety, until finally Kirk relieved him of duty and sent him to his quarters. At 15:00 hours, Kirk calmly requested a progress report from Engineering regarding the plumbing problem, and Chief Engineer Scott – whose temper by now was as short as his virus-decimated crew and whose patience was already overwhelmed by the continuing failure of the main engines’ anti-matter induction coils – nearly burned out the comm-lines with a torrent of blazing invectives.

Kirk himself was rapidly losing control of his normally calm command presence, unable to put out of his mind the upcoming evening in Spock's quarters.

Why the hell had Spock waited until the last minute to drop this Vulcan bombshell on them? Perhaps it was his way of not worrying Kirk in advance with the inevitability and foregone outcome of the situation.

Kirk would have preferred to worry.

Spock had said that he’d already investigated all other possibilities, including researching the Federation regs and contacting Starfleet Command; and if he’d said that he’d exhausted all possibilities, then he had, and there was no logical reason for Kirk to double-check his investigation.

Except that Kirk wouldn’t feel right about this situation until he’d conducted his own inquiry.

He’d spent a quarter-hour in radio-conference with Admiral Albrecht and Surgeon-General Emerson back on Earth. He chose not to specify Spock's suggested solution to the problem, and he didn’t have to. The High Commanders were astute enough to deduce the obvious. Instead, he spent half of that time alternately requesting their knowledge, and begging for a brief lift of the quarantine just so that Spock could be warp-sped to Vulcan for the requisite seven-day ritual, and finally half-threatening to disobey orders and break quarantine on his own authority to save his first-officer’s life. His brief rebellion was quickly squelched however, when both Albrecht and Emerson reminded him that Spock himself was a carrier of the virus, and if he was allowed to go to Vulcan a hell of a lot more lives would be jeopardized than just his own. Otherwise, all they had to suggest was that it was entirely up to Kirk himself whether or not to coöperate with Captain Spock's proposal. It wasn’t the suggestion that Kirk had wanted to hear.

He had considered contacting the Vulcan embassy back on Earth. But then, he probably would have been put into contact with Ambassador Sarek, and the thought of discussing such a subject with Spock's father restrained him; besides, he doubted that Spock would want his father involved in this most-intimate dilemma anyway.

What a hell of a dilemma.

By the end of the day, all the stress and insanity of duty-shift had culminated in a pounding headache; so as soon as shift ended, Kirk locked himself in his quarters and turned off the intercom, leaving explicit orders that neither he nor Mister Spock were to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever until the beginning of shift the next morning at 08:00 hours.

Doctor McCoy had interrupted him five minutes later.

The Enterprise’s Chief Medical Officer informed Kirk that he’d taken it on his own prerogative to contact his colleague assigned to the USS Exeter, Doctor M’Benga, one of the few non-Vulcan specialists in the field of Vulcan medicine, to request his expert advice. The Bantu doctor had expressed his concerns, admitted there was no other alternative, and advised them to go along with whatever Captain Spock requested, since Vulcans themselves were far more conscious of the necessary requirements to fulfill Pon Farr than any outsider would be. McCoy had thanked him for his time, and delivered the plain unvarnished tidings to the admiral.

And Kirk had politely thanked McCoy for _his_ time.

Kirk still had two hours to pass before Spock expected him. He’d lie down for awhile, take a nap – as he certainly didn’t expect to get any sleep tonight – then he’d shower and shave and get as ready as he could for his first experience of Vulcan sexual practices.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside the bath stood another small altar similar to the one in the bedchamber, with a lit censer emitting the same fragrant steam, and several graven objects, the significance of which escaped Kirk. Toward the front of the small table sat a large golden basin decorated with the same hieroglyphs and filled with water upon which floated several small white waxen flowers. A golden ladle lay to the side of the basin.  
> “Remove your clothing, please, completely,” the Vulcan directed, indicating a bench near the altar on which lay folded the heavy blue satin robe that he had worn the evening before, and a small white linen garment, “and put on the skirt.”

“Come in,” the Vulcan’s deep, slightly raspy voice responded to Kirk’s buzz. The wall hummed open, revealing the large, spartanly-regal quarters of the first-officer. A wash of exotic spice-scented vapors tingled Kirk’s nostrils, while very soft strange Vulcan music emanated from hidden speakers. The interior lights had been half-way dimmed.

Kirk entered, unsure of what to expect inside. Would Spock still be in a happy blissful daze, or storming about in uncontrolled rage? Kirk would hesitate to approach his first-officer if there were any possibility of physical danger – he knew that the Vulcan’s strength could easily overpower him if it came down to a physical confrontation.

But there appeared to be no present danger. Spock was calmly kneeling on the floor across the bed-chamber, his back to the door and his visitor. He wore a heavy white satin robe trimmed with gold braid on the sleeves and collar and hem.

Kirk passed through the cabin foyer into the bedroom. He approached the kneeling figure, not desiring to disturb the Vulcan’s meditation, partly out of politeness and partly out of reverence for the mystical ceremony, the atmosphere of which had already begun to invade his own awareness.

Before Spock sat a small table – an altar – on which stood several stone objects and jars carved with intricate symbols, and a large open book printed with similar symbols – no doubt some holy Vulcan scripture. Kirk had never learned to decipher Vulcan writing. Deep in concentration over the ancient words, Spock did not at first take note of the newcomer.

But after a moment, Spock interrupted his meditation and looked up to acknowledge Kirk standing close by. Kirk waited for Spock to speak first.

“Good evening, Jim,” Spock greeted calmly. “Please forgive my outbursts on the bridge today. I behaved inappropriately. I apologize, and accept any discipline you deem necessary.”

“Apology accepted. And no discipline is ordered. You were… not yourself… However, I believe it would be in your best interests, as well as the ship’s, if you were relieved of your duties this week.”

The Vulcan nodded thoughtfully. “I understand, and agree.” Then rising from his kneeling position, he stepped toward Kirk. The long white robe swung at his ankles, girdled at his waist by a sash decorated with gold embroidery and tassels. The same gold-embroidered sacred symbols decorated the front of the vestment across the bosom and down either front panel.

Kirk noted that Spock no longer looked like the practical efficient starship second-in-command whom Kirk knew, but rather like a strange pagan high-priest performing some ancient occult ritual, a mystical figure from unmeasured shadows of time. The sweet fragrance of spice wafted about the two men; the strange Vulcan melody, a haunting single wood flute against a nearly sub-aural echo of temple chimes, drifted over them both: an ambience so alien to Kirk’s own world of reality – the high-tech world which lay just outside the cabin door – and yet so exotically beautiful and mesmeric, bespeaking a reality beneath the ritual form greater than Kirk’s simple three-dimensional awareness.

“How do you feel?” Spock inquired solicitously.

Kirk’s eyes refocussed on the man standing before him. “Uh, fine… fine… Nervous as hell, but fine,” he responded quickly, consciously noting that the question was not a usual one for the Vulcan to ask. “Although I’d be lying if I said I hadn't had any second thoughts since last night.”

“That is understandable,” Spock acknowledged without further discussion. “Do you still wish to proceed, or do you choose to withdraw? I shall understand if you decline.”

The flicker of hesitation quavered in Kirk’s brain; he felt warmth creep into his face, a little trembling of anticipation tingled through his limbs, quivered in his belly. But he overrode the last tiny call of caution.

“I wish to proceed,” he pronounced calmly.

A slight nod of the Vulcan’s head; a lift of the hand indicated the inner room on the other side of the bedroom, the cabin’s private bath. “Then come with me now,” Spock announced, and Kirk complied without further delay.

Inside the bath stood another small altar similar to the one in the bedchamber, with a lit censer emitting the same fragrant steam, and several graven objects, the significance of which escaped Kirk. Toward the front of the small table sat a large golden basin decorated with the same hieroglyphs and filled with water upon which floated several small white waxen flowers. A golden ladle lay to the side of the basin.

“Remove your clothing, please, completely,” the Vulcan directed, indicating a bench near the altar on which lay folded the heavy blue satin robe that he had worn the evening before, and a small white linen garment, “and put on the skirt.”

Compliantly Kirk unbuttoned the white silk uniform blouse he was wearing and slipped it off, then unfastened and removed his boots and black uniform trousers, and finally his undershorts. It occurred to him that probably even in the privacies of their twenty-eight years of acquaintance neither had seen the other naked before, unless perhaps in simple momentary passing. He then reached for the small white garment, a short linen wrap-around skirt about mid-thigh in length, and put it on.

At the same time, Spock removed his ceremonial robe, folded it and laid it beside the blue vestment on the bench. Beneath, he too wore the simple linen skirt. Kirk noticed in the dim light the subtle pale yellowish-greenish cast of Spock's hairless skin, and all the more he felt himself divorced from the reality he knew and thrust as a stranger into an ancient alien time and space.

A mat lay on the floor before the altar; upon this, Spock knelt in front of the table, indicating Kirk to kneel beside him at his right. Kirk dropped to his knees on the mat, and folded his arms across his chest to mirror the reverent pose of his friend. He breathed in the spice vapors. The headache which had earlier deprived him of all but shallow sleep was now practically dissipated, and all the insanity of duty-shift was fading into the high-tech world of spit-and-polish reality which lay outside – in fact, Kirk felt that outer reality rapidly slipping into gossamer unreality – and more solidity here and now in this alien ambience, than out there in the so-called ‘real’ world.

Beside him, eyes closed, Spock began to chant in the ancient language, the guttural syllables so foreign to Kirk’s ears, with almost melodic intonation. Kirk closed his eyes too, allowing himself to absorb the haunting rhythmic chant, breathing deeply of sweet spice, sensing the warm presence of the being beside him. In his mind’s eye he could imagine them back on Vulcan in the temple performing this ritual. Once, years before, with Spock, he had visited the holy Vulcan shrine on Mount Kahleca, when another ceremony had demanded the presence of his first-officer. Kirk had waited in the outer court while Spock had entered the ante-chamber to perform the holy rite. As a non-worshipper and non-Vulcan, Kirk had been allowed no closer approach to the inner chambers; and indeed, even Spock could not enter the innermost chamber which was attended to only by the High Priestess.

“Jim.” Kirk heard Spock pronounce his name, and the familiar syllable breaking the drone of the alien chant startled Kirk out of his reverie.

Spock turned toward Kirk so that the altar was to his left. Kirk moved to face him, and as he did, their bare knees touched accidentally. The unexpected touch jagged a tiny electric stimulus up through Kirk’s body, and he shifted away a fraction. He felt warmth creep over his skin. Growing tension – could he go through with this, after all? Still, after all this time, the ghosts of Klingon violation remained to torment him. With effort he wrested himself away from memory’s grip. This was not the same situation, he reminded himself for the dozenth time that day. Not the same situation at all.

Holding eye contact, Spock spoke to him in Vulcan, a short phrase. Kirk said nothing; he could feel his pulse and respirations increase under the stress of closeness and the brutal memories. Spock repeated the phrase again and again, voice droning soothingly, over and over like a mantra, the chant penetrated Kirk’s consciousness. He licked dry lips. If the slightest touch caused stress, how could he ever complete what he had promised?

Then Spock reached a hand to Kirk’s face, fingers touched his temple, his cheek, his chin. Kirk felt the mind-meld seep into him… _calm… calm… so calm… quiet, peaceful… nothing to fear… nothing to fear at all… calm… love… beautiful love… yes… yes he did feel better now, he relaxed… it was all right… everything was all right now…_

Then with a short caress to Kirk’s cheek, Spock dropped his fingers, breaking the mind-link. Kirk took a deep breath. The spice vapor filled his lungs. Yes, he was all right now, he felt the stress recede, the headache ease into nothingness. Now the touch of their knees was acceptable, he could allow it, he could discipline himself to go through with what he had promised, he was sure he could.

“How do you feel?” Spock asked again quietly.

Kirk nodded. “Better… Thank you…” He managed a tiny tug of a smile. “Please continue to assist me when I need it.”

“I shall.”

Spock's attention turned to the golden bowl on the altar. Dipping his hands into the water, he splashed the liquid onto his face, then again. Then he looked at Kirk and directed, “Do as I do.”

Kirk obeyed, reaching into the cool water and splashing his own face with it, once, twice. It felt good trickling down his flushed face, down his throat and chest, rivulets gathering at the base of his throat to dribble down sternal cleavage. The water was scented too with spice and with the sweet fragrance of the floating blossoms. Briefly Kirk wondered about the small white flowers. No doubt Spock grew them on the agro-deck along with other Vulcan vegetation necessary to Vulcan rituals and dietary habits. Later Kirk would remember to ask Spock the name of the sweet blossoms. The scent reminded him of Earth magnolias, only much sweeter and more intense. That and the cinnamon-ginger scent of the spice created a very heady fragrance.

Spock picked up the golden ladle next to the basin, dipped a spoonful of water; then, reaching over to Kirk, poured the water over Kirk’s head. Kirk sat up straight, sitting back on his heels, hands lying loosely in his lap, eyes closed, breathing through his mouth. The water tingled cool on his scalp. He could hear Spock chanting beneath his breath. Kirk found that the unintelligible Vulcan words had a soothing lulling effect on him. Another dipper-ful. The scented water trickled down his face, down his neck. Another. He didn’t wipe away the drops that ran into his eyes, over his lips. Rivulets dribbled down the channel of his spine. He could feel the wetness seeping into the waistband of the skirt.

He felt the next ladle-ful pour over his left shoulder, the next over his right. Again. Cool pleasant liquid ran over his chest, his back. Then his forearms – left, then right. Something dropped feather-light onto his skin. He opened his eyes and looked down to see what it was. It was one of the flowers.

He looked at Spock. Spock's eyes were half-closed as his lips continued forming the quiet chant, while he emptied the ladle over Kirk’s thighs, left and right. Another flower spilled into Kirk’s lap.

Kirk felt the wet linen skirt clinging cool and moist to his tight, his buttocks. The mat upon which they knelt was also damp now.

Then laying the ladle down alongside the basin, Spock announced, “It is your turn now, Jim. Cleanse me as I have cleansed you.” And he knelt there as Kirk had knelt there, eyes closed, body relaxed. He continued to chant the strange occult liturgy, but more audibly now.

Kirk took the ladle, scooped up water and poured it over Spock's head. The chant was interrupted momentarily as the Vulcan responded to the pleasant sensation with a long intake and exhalation of breath. The water glistened over his shiny straight black hair. Kirk watched the liquid running down his friend’s face. Twice more, as Spock had done to him, he carefully ladled the water over Spock's hair and face and neck. Then Spock's shoulders – left to right, Kirk remembered.

Kirk sensed himself responding as they performed this cleansing ritual together. That was a surprise. He certainly hadn't meant to respond physically, nor had it even crossed his mind that he might; after all, for twenty-eight years he and Spock had shared close quarters – as spaceships of any kind weren’t known for much elbow-room – and over the span of years and experiences together, professional respect had slowly grown into long-term friendship, and beyond that into deep mutual brother-love. But that did not in any way include sexual or physical feelings for each other. As a matter of fact, Kirk knew that Vulcans expressed a distaste for most physical touching of any kind; and Kirk didn’t engage in it very often himself with other men, save perhaps for an occasional friendly back-slap or other expression of male camaraderie, or at the most, mild affectionate hugs.

Dipping into the basin again, Kirk poured the water over Spock's arms and hands. Spock's hairless sallow-complected skin glistened with water sparkle.

Of course Kirk understood that his feelings were not actually directed toward Spock specifically. Stress levels were extremely high these days, it had been a long time since he’d been able to work out physical release, and he could hardly even remember the last time he’d shared his bed with a woman – and so now, with a chance for physical contact of any sort, his mind and body automatically sought sexual expression.

And the spice was so heady.

But he was not truly interested in Spock sexually, he knew that. There was no way he could be.

He ladled the last of the water over Spock's thighs, then carefully set the ladle down beside the laver.

Spock continued to sit there for awhile, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest, as the water continued to run off his body. Kirk waited patiently, feeling trickles of water from his own wet hair run down his face and neck, feeling the wet skirt cling to his thighs.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, eyes closed.

“Yes?” Kirk murmured, but Spock said no more. The haunting music floated about them; Kirk listened to the soft slow chiming of the temple bells… _so calm, so peaceful, so lulling_ … He felt himself slipping into a near-hypnotic state of consciousness… _pleasant_ … _he could stay here forever… he wanted to stay here forever_ …

Spock's fingers touched his face again, startling him slightly, momentarily; the fingers stroked his cheek gently once – a slight caress – then slipped into the stylized position for another mind-meld.

Again Kirk listened to the temple bells, felt the slow heavy rhythm envelop him, penetrate him, until his own body rhythm resonated with the tolling… now he slid effortlessly into a gentle hypnotic trance… _floating… so gentle… nothing existed outside this beautiful peaceful world… Jim… he heard his name again, but this time not spoken aloud… the whisper of his name felt like a caress of love… Jim… he sensed again… together now… we are together now_ …

… _yes,_ Kirk thought, _yes… together… and nothing else matters… nothing_ …

… _come with me… join with me… love… pure love… give all of yourself, Jim… love… I love you_ …

… _love_ … Kirk was loving another man in a masculine way, and felt that love uplifted, augmented… growing… enlarging… he felt love other than his own as a nearly-tactile aether meeting his, joining his… he almost had the sensation that he could feel Spock's love for him as though it were a tangible object like a blanket enfolding him, and yet more real than that – a force which interpenetrated his very being, his very essence… indeed, a very new, strange, unusual way to experience their twenty-eight-year friendship.

… _they were at the temple now… he could see it quite clearly now, just as he remembered it… a vast shrine built on the summit of Mount Kahleca, surrounded by gardens… the perfume of the dhyara blossoms, white, sweet sacred flowers… the seventy steps which led up to the temple court, the ancient stones… the temple, its golden roof scintillating blood red under the brilliant light of dual red suns filtering through a high thin haze of volcanic dust… colonnaded on each side by twelve pillars, each side a perfect square, the entire edifice a perfect cube… height, length, breadth equal… mathematical truth equal to perfect logic equal to the Principle of the Absolute… Over the temple entrance, the sacred symbols carved into stone, the ancient Vulcan words which Kirk realized he could read quite easily now: “Reality is essence; all else is illusion” … emotions… the love… love… golden love scintillating over him… the power and beauty washing over him… emotions welled up inside him, his breath caught, quavered… moisture rose unbidden in his eyes… the love of a friend… a brother… a perfect soul-mate… Spock, I love you… I love you… I love you… the vision misted over, wavered, faded_ … and he was in Spock's quarters once more, kneeling by the altar, breathing in the scent of spice and blossoms, eyes glistening.

“Spock…” he whispered, “… oh Spock…”

“Come,” Spock urged quietly, rising to his feet, and taking Kirk’s hand gently to assist him up.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Releasing Kirk’s hands, Spock reached up to the collar of his own robe and unfastened it down the front, undid the sash. Kirk hesitated, then started to do likewise, but Spock interrupted him. “No, Jim,” he murmured, “I shall remove yours later…”  
> Kirk nodded assent, remaining on his knees, when Spock stood up.  
> The white vestment slipped off Vulcan shoulders, fell from the long lean body; and Spock stood before Kirk, completely naked now.

Kirk rose from the damp mat, still slightly disoriented from the deep mind-link, and feeling a flush rise in his face. He looked at Spock questioningly, a little dazed.

“Jim,” Spock pronounced his name softly, and handed him a large towel. “Dry yourself, then put on your robe, please.” And removing his own skirt, Spock dried himself off, then reached for his white satin vestment, slipped it on, fastened it down the front. His damp hair lay mussed, uncombed.

Kirk removed his wet clothing, rubbed the towel over his own damp skin and hair. He could smell the fragrance on his skin – it pervaded everything – and he could still feel the lingering essence of Spock's love. He had never realized before that feeling and emotion could be expressed so deeply as to nearly be a tangible energy… and tonight was only the beginning…

He slipped on Spock's blue satin robe and tied the sash around his waist, then together he and Spock strolled back out to the bedchamber.

“You are curious,” Spock said, half as a statement and half as a question.

“Yes… and a little apprehensive,” Kirk admitted, voice barely above a whisper. He looked out the large window behind the head of the bed. Pinpoints of light speckled the blackness of space. Then he strolled back to his friend. “In fact, a helluva lot apprehensive. I hope it isn’t necessary for the fulfillment of your ritual for me to feel comfortable about all of this.”

They were standing together in front of the altar near the bed, facing each other as before. Spock said not a word, but continued to gaze deeply into Kirk’s soul. And just as Kirk felt the cool satin vestment hanging from his shoulders, rustling against his bare skin, so also was he aware of Spock's love and passion enrobing him, even without the mind-link, and even though Spock's strong impassive face betrayed nothing.

And then Spock turned to kneel before the altar again, and Kirk did likewise.

While Spock settled into meditation, Kirk took the time to relax his own thoughts. In actuality, having sex with Spock would not be such a vast jump from the level of intimate communion which they already shared. Already their minds were so close, their thoughts so unified, that after twenty-eight years they were like an old married couple, able to finish each other’s sentences. Indeed, sex was probably the only thing they hadn't shared yet. Who could know what effect that final act of consummation would have on this most-profound of all of Kirk’s personal relationships?

Spock was 56 years old today. Happy birthday, Spock. That was, of course, 56 Vulcan years – by Earth standards he would be 52 of 53. Th revolution of Vulcan around its twin suns was slightly smaller that Earth’s, and their life-spans were longer than humans. So Spock could look forward to many more birthdays.

Kirk himself was 55, soon to be 56. What a way to celebrate their mutual anniversaries.

It certainly had never occurred to Kirk in all their long friendship together that when they were mature middle-aged men in their fifties, they would be augmenting that friendship by initiating a sexual aspect. But of course, it was not truly homosexuality, Kirk kept reminding himself – just an emergency solution to a very unexpected, awkward situation; when the situation was resolved, the relationship would return to its normal bounds… and yet, Kirk was keenly aware that those bounds would never again be the same.

Well, he supposed he was as ready as he’d ever be.

Beside him, Spock, still lost in concentration, began to breathe more deeply. Kirk looked over at him. Spock’s face was no longer impassive now, but strained with tense passion, eyes still closed, brow furrowed. Head tilted back, mouth open, breathing hard, shuddering breaths, fists clenching and unclenching on his thighs. The gasps verged on tiny moans, cries, almost as though the Vulcan was in pain. And perhaps he was – surely this racial septennial reversal of mental orientation 180 degrees from Pure Logic to Pure Passion must wreak cerebral havoc. In past years Kirk had picked up brief comments from his Vulcan friend referring to this private Vulcan experience, and it didn’t take any more than that to know that Spock did not anticipate the experience eagerly.

Kirk remained where he was, kneeling silently beside his tormented friend, yet sharply wary, the memory of Spock's afternoon rampage all too fresh in Kirk’s mind. Only a few times in all their years together had Kirk seen his friend exhibit any emotion beyond the mildest subtlety of expression, and it always disturbed Kirk because of its uncharacteristicness and because of its hazardous potential.

But right now, tonight, Spock apparently meant no harm. Emotion was just intensely, implacably working its way up from the center of his very being, through thick heavy levels of repression, seven-years’ worth of subjugation, as now it demanded manifestation.

Slowly the shuddering breaths quieted, the trembling lessened, as the Vulcan temporarily regained a modicum of restraint over his seething passion, the struggle waxing and waning, waxing and waning.

Finally Spock’s deep quiet voice pronounced, “Jim.”

“I’m here, Spock,” Kirk assured, if that was what Spock wanted and needed now.

Slowly Spock shifted his position on the mat to face Kirk again. Kirk turned also, so that once again their knees touched. Spock's eyes raised to meet the compassionate concerned gaze of his human friend. The Vulcan’s face still expressed signs of stress, of conflict.

And then, without dropping his gaze, Spock reached for Kirk’s left hand. Kirk responded to his friend’s clasp, taking Spock's hand in both of his. Their eyes remained locked, Kirk’s expression serious; Spock's one of tension and struggle. Neither spoke in the closeness.

Then gently with his free hand, Spock began to caress Kirk’s hand. Kirk squeezed gently in response, despite his dis-ease. Fingertips stroked, caressed, his fingers, his hand, his wrist. Spock shifted his gaze to their hands to watch what he was doing. Then releasing his other hand from the clasp, he allowed his fingertips to explore warm, slightly moist skin. Kirk offered his hands to his friend, palms up. With brow still creased, Spock let his fingertips glide over Kirk’s own fingertips, down his fingers to his palms, then to his wrists, then up his forearms a little ways, sliding beneath the loose folds of blue satin.

Kirk’s intent gaze remained on Spock's face, while Spock's own gaze continued to study his activity with Kirk’s hands. Finally his eyes raised once more to match the hazel stare again.

Then releasing Kirk’s hands, Spock reached up to the collar of his own robe and unfastened it down the front, undid the sash. Kirk hesitated, then started to do likewise, but Spock interrupted him. “No, Jim,” he murmured, “I shall remove yours later…”

Kirk nodded assent, remaining on his knees, when Spock stood up.

The white vestment slipped off Vulcan shoulders, fell from the long lean body; and Spock stood before Kirk, completely naked now.

Abruptly Kirk glanced up to Spock's face, as though to avoid the impropriety of staring at his friend’s genitals right at eye level. Spock was looking down at him now, not immediately stepping away, but deliberately allowing Kirk this new intimacy.

Kirk was not sure how to accept. He felt embarrassment, and not very subtle embarrassment at that.

At 6’1 Spock stood several inches taller than Kirk, and extremely slender, almost too slender for his height. Kirk barely missed 5’10, but although he outweighed the Vulcan by twenty pounds at least – albeit, on a body not quite as solid and firm as twenty years before – Spock's gaunt frame belied his comparably greater native strength, and Kirk was all too seriously aware of that fact, particularly after the Vulcan’s afternoon mania.

Carefully Spock folded the robe and laid it on a nearby chair. Then from the alter he picked up one of the stone jars engraved with ancient hieroglyphs and removed the top. Inside was filled with a white lotion. He handed it to Kirk. “Please anoint me with this now,” he directed, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge.

Kirk took a whiff of the spice-scented cream. “Anoint you?” he questioned. “How? Is there a particular ritual form you want me to follow?”

Spock shook his head. “No. Simply rub it all over my body, and then I shall do the same for you.”

“All right,” Kirk agreed, slightly unwilling, with a small lift of his shoulders. But despite his slight displeasure, he rose to his feet and moved over to the bed to stand before the Vulcan. There he hesitated, hardly knowing how to begin and feeling extremely awkward, himself still robed, and Spock completely nude. This was an absolute turn-about from the Spock he knew so well, who disdained almost all bodily contact and who abhorred any loss of personal privacy. But if this was what Spock had requested now, then Kirk would oblige.

Dipping his fingers into the cream, he cautiously reached a hand to Spock's shoulder.

Spock's touch on his forearm interrupted him momentarily, and he took the cue of slight pressure to drop once more to his knees before his friend, so that they were once again at equal eye-level.

… _of course, it must be this way_ , Kirk realized suddenly… _equality of partners, neither one above the other during the ritual… until the end, of course, and then Spock will be above me… Spock will be on top of me_ …

…the thought made him hesitate when he realized its full implication. All along he’d been hoping as a last chance that none of this really meant what it sounded like, that all the ritual of meditating and cleansing and chanting would be enough, and that he wouldn't actually have to go through the actual act of submitting his body to another male, no matter how close friends they were.

But of course that was exactly what it meant.

A sudden wave of tension nearly overwhelmed him, and he couldn’t bring himself to touch Spock's naked body.

“Jim,” Spock urged gently.

Kirk forced a tiny humorless smile. “I’m sorry, Spock. I’m just suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed… and I’m having trouble trying not to think about what Krugh did to me…”

“I understand. I too am feeling shame, perhaps as great as yours. But we must continue, if you can. If you cannot, I understand that as well.”

“I can continue,” Kirk assured quickly, if a little weakly.

Silently Spock reached up to Kirk’s face once more. Kirk closed his eyes as he felt Spock's long sensitive fingers touch him for another meld.

And with the meld returned calm stability once again and peace of mind. At first he felt his fear and shame in all their emotional discomfort, very real, very solid; and then in a sudden surge to nearly unbearable heights, he felt Spock's own feelings of humiliation augment and commingle with his own – a sudden unpleasant surge of power, then gradual ebbing away of both parts of the shame into utter nothingness – and then once more in the void flooded their feelings of love for each other, warm and soothing and overpowering… a swirl of feelings and thoughts danced behind his eyes, swirled and coalesced into recognizable forms, his thoughts, Spock’s thoughts… then faded away to be replaced by another bright swirl of love and warmth and… sexual excitement? Yes, the first stirrings of arousal… if Spock was inducing this hypnotically through the mind-meld, that was all right with Kirk – otherwise Kirk would never be able to complete what must be completed tonight. He needed Spock’s help. No doubt, Spock had to forcibly arouse himself hypnotically too, in order to perform this embarrassment with Kirk… _No_ , Spock’s thought answered him, _no, Jim, you misunderstand… My shame comes not from the fact that we are both males, but rather from the fact that I am disappointing my race by neglecting to preserve my seed properly for my people… my love for you is what it has always been: complete, profound, genderless… Absolute Love includes sexual desire, though it need not express sexually… and I am also not deliberately inducing sexual desires in you… you must feel what you feel… I cannot compel you to do this if you choose not to… for this rite to accomplish what it must, you must feel your own emotions for me, as I feel mine for you… please understand, Jim… understand, friend, brother, lover… yes, I do understand… I love you… love_ …

The energy mass surrounded Kirk in sheer love and beauty and peace, the deepest yet he’d ever felt… he didn’t think that he could absorb a moment more, yet he didn’t want to let go either; he craved it, his soul was so starved for intimate communion with another intelligent loving being.

Then, without breaking the mind-link, Spock used his other hand to grasp Kirk’s left hand which still held a palmful of the spice-scented lotion, and drew it to his chest.

Slowly, firmly, Kirk began to massage the lotion into Spock's skin. With both hands oiled, he reached up to either side of Spock's neck to squeeze and rub.

… _pleasure_ … Abruptly Kirk received a powerful jolt of arousal as the completed mind-meld circuit returned to Kirk the pure raw energy of pleasure which Kirk’s touch stimulated in Spock… and suddenly Kirk realized what that would mean regarding the final act of consummation… No wonder Vulcan sexual passion was rumored to be the most erotic in the galaxy – both partners linked, experiencing literally each other’s sensations as well as their own, giving and receiving simultaneously, power ever-expanding in an upward spiraling vortex of ecstasy and absolute pleasure.

Kirk’s hands worked the muscles of Spock's neck and shoulders, massaging, working the flesh hard, fingers sliding back over his shoulder blades, then palms rubbing the ends of his shoulders, sliding down his upper arms, then back up to his shoulders, then down over his chest.

Spock's head was tilted back, mouth open, as he gasped for breath, shuddering, trembling, sweating. In the muted light, his yellowish skin, oiled and sweat-slicked, gleamed a golden sheen. Kirk felt his friend’s growing sexual arousal, experienced raw Vulcan passion surging in his own veins, so powerful, so overwhelming, that suddenly he felt his own orgasm surging to climax, he needed release right now, he couldn’t stop it.

Abruptly Spock dropped his fingers from Kirk’s face to interrupt the link and prevent Kirk’s climax… _now is not yet the time_ , Kirk sensed just before the meld faded. The sudden loss of massive energy did interrupt his pending orgasm, but that left him caught right on the edge of climax where pleasure twisted into bad discomfort of hard swollen unreleased pressure in his genitals… _oh god, don’t do this to me, Spock, don’t do this to me_ … He realized that he was clinging so tightly to Spock that his fingernails were digging into Spock's flesh… _I can’t hold out as long as you want me to… please don’t make me wait to long_ …

And indeed, he could hardly stop the surge that shuddered through him just then... he felt warm sticky wetness on his thigh – a little, just a little, enough to dull the sharp edge of his body’s demand – and he felt his skin flush with embarrassment at his lack of control in front of another man.

Overlooking Kirk’s chagrin, Spock reached up both hands to take his shoulders. The touch – any touch – intensified the loving warmth with which Spock's aura enrobed Kirk. Kirk felt his muscles relax, then tension once again slipped from his mind, as the climactic urge receded.

“Spock…” the name whispered on his lips.

And then sliding a hand to Kirk’s nape, Spock leaned closer, eyes half-closed focussed on Kirk’s parted lips… instinctively Kirk pulled back a fraction, but then he forced himself to accept and experience this alien kiss – alien in more ways than one – and a surprising tingle of desire danced through Kirk’s body as a Vulcan mouth pressed to his… _so good_ – that was certainly unexpected – _so very good_ … Kirk found himself responding hungrily; much too long a time had passed since he’d last shared warm loving affection with a dear friend… although Spock was the last person among his friends whom Kirk would have ever guessed he’d be kissing one day.

He felt the soft flesh of Spock's lips yield against the hardness of his teeth, he felt Spock's breath in his throat. The pressure intensified, lessened, intensified… lips searching, as each attempted to discover the most satisfying position. Kirk wondered if Spock would attempt to penetrate his mouth. He wasn't sure he wanted that, but if that was part of this experience, then he chose to allow that too. And just as he thought that, Spock's tongue flicked across his lips. Kirk’s genitals pulsed. He felt Spock's wet tongue caress his lips, then push into his mouth, prod at his own tongue. Sweat broke out on Kirk’s face, warmth flushed his body, as the kiss intensified and their tongues probed and explored and licked.

Finally Spock broke contact. Hands slid gently over shoulders and arms, caressing blue satin, then pushed up beneath the cool material of the sleeves. The Vulcan’s solemn gaze looked down at Kirk’s body as his hands stroked. Willingly Kirk allowed both his eyes and hands, although Kirk’s body trembled with adrenalin rush.

“Spock…” Kirk whispered once again.

Firmly Spock drew Kirk to himself, embraced the human tightly, cheek against Kirk’s damp wavy brown hair flecked with middle-aged grey. Kirk hugged his friend, face pressed to the bare skin of Spock's neck and shoulder.

The Vulcan’s skin smelled of sweet spice; Kirk could taste it against his lips.

Kirk didn’t know how long they remained locked together in the embrace – two middle-aged men, twenty-eight years of friendship – he just knew that he wanted it to continue… he felt the warm beautiful radiation pulsing through him, revitalizing his long-fatigued mind and body. Still soft in the background, the simple primitive music of wooden flute and temple chimes resonated with something very deep and innate in the center of his soul.

He felt Spock's lips press against his hair, hands stroke his shoulders and back. Kirk returned the caresses, despite the adrenalin quivering twitching his muscles. Once again sexual desire simmered within his loins, but this time it was increasing slowly, gradually, not like the chaotic explosion earlier; and once again the idea titillated his conscious mind that maybe he really did want to consummate this ritual with his best friend.

Gently Spock released the embrace; they parted slightly. In uncertain expectation, Kirk looked up into the dark liquid depths of loving eyes set in the mature weathered face. Spock too let his gaze explore Kirk’s face softly etched with over fifty years of life-experience.

“Old friend,” Spock murmured tenderly.

“… old friend…” Kirk echoed.

Spock's fingers reached to the collar of Kirk’s robe to undo the fastening, then untied the sash at his waist. The blue satin fell open, exposing Kirk’s body. Kirk did not move as Spock reached again to the front edges of the vestment and drew it back off Kirk’s shoulders. The material rustled to the floor, pooling about Kirk’s thighs as he knelt there before Spock's seated figure.

Then taking Kirk’s hands, Spock urged him to his feet. Now Kirk stood naked before his friend, allowing Spock to look at him, as Spock had offered himself to Kirk but a few minutes before. Maturity had added a few pounds to Kirk’s 55-year-old frame, but he was still in good shape. He watched Spock's face while the Vulcan’s eyes slowly moved up his body studiously, seriously, possessively.

Finally Spock’s gaze met Kirk’s. Kirk could read Spock's love and passion beneath the serious exterior just as surely as if they were still melded. And he also knew that his own feelings were even less bemasked.

Lying back on the bed, Spock drew Kirk closer, urged him up onto the bed. Kirk climbed up beside him, but Spock nudged him closer until Kirk straddled the Vulcan on hands and knees. Kirk felt extremely awkward in such a sexual position and because of their mutual erections. Their organs touched, brushed against each other, and a sharp jab of arousal zagged up from Kirk’s crotch to his brain. Spock's lips released a short moan, and unexpected shock dazed his eyes; his body moved beneath Kirk’s crouched figure. The movement caused their organs to rub even more. Kirk felt his muscles quivering like a gelatinous mass as electricity danced through his entire nervous system. The conclusion of his interrupted orgasm hovered nearby… _Spock!_ his mind cried… _if you keep this up, I won’t be able to last very much longer… please, Spock!_...

He looked down between their bodies now to see Spock's genitals. Propriety, or lack thereof, was hardly an issue anymore. They didn’t look much different from his own – except that now, in arousal, Spock's penis was longer and seemed to be pulsing and moving with more volition that a human’s could. The realization of what that would feel like up inside him suddenly made Kirk’s heart leap. Earlier that day when McCoy had accosted Kirk in private to inform him of Doctor M’Benga’s opinions and to ascertain if a final solution to the previous evening’s discourse had been agreed upon, Kirk had assured him that it had, and had attempted himself to summon the doctor’s knowledge of Vulcan sexual behavior and anatomy; but because little information existed for non-Vulcans, even Doctor McCoy’s knowledge was scanty beyond his familiarity with Spock’s yearly physical. So, to Kirk’s anxious questions, will it fit? and how does it work?, McCoy could only answer, yes it probably will, and you’ll find out.

Well, Kirk would indeed find out, and very soon.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Spock…” Kirk groaned into the pillow, barely able to form words, trapped beneath the Vulcan’s weight. “Spock… it hurts…”  
> Momentarily Spock seemed not to hear him, lost in single-minded concentration centered between his legs. Harsh breath tore from the Vulcan’s lungs, sweat rolled off him, dripped onto Kirk’s sweat-drenched body. The bed shook with his vigorous thrusting. Hair hung wet; he blinked sweat out of his eyes…

Dipping fingers into the unguent jar placed on the bed, Spock began to anoint Kirk. Now Kirk felt himself respond surprisingly eagerly to Spock's expert touch. Loving pressure worked his neck and shoulders, and Kirk moaned helplessly as long slender fingers jagged electric shocks all through his body, all the way down to his genitals.

Spock's hands slid down Kirk’s chest, stroked his breasts with the scented ointment, thumbs and forefingers took his nipples, stimulated them. Kirk gasped, breath caught. Spock continued to oil down his body, fingers massaging; Kirk panted shallow breaths, arousal throbbing hard between his legs. Something had to be done about that, and soon, or he’d explode with tension.

“Spock… please!” he begged.

Spock had a request of his own. “Please, Jim, continue to anoint me. I require stimulation as well.”

Kirk complied; and sitting back on Spock's thighs, he took a handful of lotion from the jar, rubbed it between his palms, then smoothed it over the Vulcan’s long slender body. Spock's breath shortened like his own, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, sweat glistened on his face, while Kirk’s fingers moved over his belly, flanks, hips – soft tender areas of his body. Spock’s squirming and passionate responsiveness aroused Kirk unbearably. Then in desperation, Spock's arms wrapped around Kirk’s upper body and pulled him down on top, then he kissed the human, kissed him hard and ravenously, tongue forcing its way into Kirk’s mouth. Kirk responded desperately, taking it deep in his mouth. Spock’s body writhed vigorously against Kirk’s own, his embrace locking Kirk to himself; and Kirk realized that he couldn’t have broken the embrace even if he’d wanted to. Never before had he seen his best friend and second-in-command act so passionately aroused, nearly out of control.

And then Spock grasped his left wrist in a strong grip, pushed his hand into the unguent jar, then forced it down between them to take hold of the Vulcan organ and lubricate it. Involuntarily Kirk’s hand pulled back, but Spock's greater strength inexorably forced it down, until Kirk did grip the alien organ and rub it with his lotion-smeared hand. Indescribable ecstasy tightened the Vulcan’s face. Kirk felt embarrassed, fondling another male’s genitals, but chose to know that Spock's great pleasure justified the otherwise improper act.

Intensely Spock's hands moved over Kirk’s body, from shoulders to hips, up and down his thighs. Passionate fire raged over Kirk. They kissed hard, vigorously, eagerly, bodies squirming together desperately. Spock’s hands kneaded Kirk’s buttocks, dug into the firm muscle, forcing their pelvic areas hard together. Kirk felt Spock's organ squirm and writhe against his own. Still locked in the kiss, Kirk moaned at the powerful and unusual genital stimulation that finally drove his own climax to the verge, and now nothing would stop it – nothing.

Sensing Kirk’s initial orgasmic thrusts, Spock broke the kiss, then immediately rolled them both over, and pushed Kirk belly-down on the bed, so that Kirk was now prone beneath Spock's weight. Kirk was writhing against the bed, humping, near-sobbing with desperation, orgasm just a few seconds away… he needed it now so badly… so badly… _please help me_ … _please please please!_... Spock's hands took Kirk’s buttocks, forced them apart, then presumptively he touched his organ to Kirk’s anus and pushed in; mounted his superior officer.

… irrational fear and remembered shame clutched Kirk’s vitals in a grip of sudden panic…

Kirk yelled, eyes glazed with shock. And then his own climax exploded; he felt a firm strong hand grip his organ, felt warm thick fluid spurt out onto himself, onto the bed, onto Spock's hand, as he writhed and wriggled mindlessly. Intensity of orgasm overrode fear. Spock squeezed and rubbed; another surge of hot ecstasy crashed over Kirk’s being, another jolt of semen ejaculated… another moan deep within Kirk’s dry throat… another wave of electrical shock breaking over him. Shimmering waves of energy tingled through every nerve, every fiber of his body.

He hardly felt Spock inside him.

Spock rode him tightly, rode the bucking squirming body beneath him which he now impaled. Kirk’s body continued to quiver and jerk as he tried to prolong the ecstasy, until finally the last tendrils of pleasure withdrew and faded, and he collapsed limply, trembling with utter weakness, panting breathlessly, dripping rivulets of sweat.

But Spock's finale was only beginning. He too was sweating profusely, gasping for breath, muscles trembling, but with power building, not dissipating. Bracing himself over Kirk, the Vulcan rammed into Kirk’s shuddering trembling body, slid out, then rammed back in.

Kirk moaned again, but this time with discomfort. Now he could feel Spock's penetration, and it hurt. Spock had entered so quickly and forcefully that Kirk’s opening had been impulsively strained. Cramps throbbed in his bowels as the alien organ pushed very deep inside. Dark memories flooded over him, memories of other alien organs probing up inside him mercilessly. Near panic surged through his body. Kirk wanted to pull away, but his weak muscles refused to respond. Spock’s organ continued to swell and probe even deeper, and Kirk could not disengage.

“Spock…” Kirk groaned into the pillow, barely able to form words, trapped beneath the Vulcan’s weight. “Spock… it hurts…”

Momentarily Spock seemed not to hear him, lost in single-minded concentration centered between his legs. Harsh breath tore from the Vulcan’s lungs, sweat rolled off him, dripped onto Kirk’s sweat-drenched body. The bed shook with his vigorous thrusting. Hair hung wet; he blinked sweat out of his eyes.

Kirk felt the sweat dripping onto him, felt Spock's heavy breath on his neck and shoulders, felt incessant ramming deep inside, driving deeper than any human male could go. But with the loss of his own arousal and the repeated onslaught of memories of Klingon rape, the stimulation brought only pain to his limp submissive body. Willfully he tried to discipline his panicky emotions.

“Spock… please…” he begged, “you’re hurting me…”

Spock said nothing, but raised a hand to the side of Kirk’s face again, locked on a meld with Kirk’s mind one more time this evening.

And once again Kirk was filled with the powerful energy of the Vulcan’s mind which encountered the human pain and panic and soothingly overcame them. Muscle tremors eased. Spock's passion infused him, although Kirk was unable to physically react again himself, but at least the pain of his anal cramps receded in the hypnotic haze. He felt Spock's sexual excitement, the driving need for orgasm that energized Spock's writhing and thrusting. But Spock could also sense Kirk’s needs now, and so he tempered his vigorous ramming up inside Kirk’s bowels, tried to make it as least painful for him as possible. Spock's left hand, wet with Kirk’s semen, began to stroke the inside of Kirk’s thighs already smeared with Kirk’s fluid, fingers squeezed the tender flesh, while his lips pressed to Kirk’s shoulder and neck, firm erotic kisses against Kirk’s flesh, wet tongue probing arousingly. It felt so good and Kirk knew that if it weren’t for the fact that he was still recovering from his own orgasm, the Vulcan caresses would shoot him right to the top again.

But now Spock was nearing his own climax: the rhythmic humping increased, panting deepened, sweat-slick body sliding forcibly against Kirk’s faster and faster, organ swelling and pulsing way deep inside Kirk, ramming and ramming desperately, faster, harder, until in a paroxysm of ecstasy Spock exploded deep into Kirk. A harsh cry burst from Spock's lips, which Kirk echoed as the hot Vulcan fluid spurted into him, and he lived Spock's excitement and release as well as his own sensations.

Moved by mindless raw power, Spock writhed in the throes of ecstasy that pushed on and on beyond the limits of Kirk’s orgasm. Kirk was locked into Spock's experience mentally and physically, unable to release himself, pleasured by the vivid stimulation, yet still in distress from the hard pressure far inside his bowels.

Until finally, finally, Spock’s passion ebbed, and with a last few lingering stirrings he collapsed like dead weight on top of Kirk, inside of Kirk. And the two men just lay there breathless, drenched with sweat, hearts pounding, muscles quivering, utter exhaustion just an inch away.

And they slept like that, dead to the world, for long uninterrupted hours.  
~ ~ ~

_Chimes tinkling gently on the breeze, sweet tiny bells, cool mist caressing my face, brushing my lips._

_I open my eyes._

_I see the dawn world about me. At first I do not know where I am. Then I realize that I have just awakened in the temple garden. I do not remember falling asleep there._

_Far below at the base of the mountain, the Hadean volcanic landscape awaits the desert sun once again. Boiling springs leak to the surface of the ground, thick hot mud bubbles in little puddles. Sulfur steam eddies from vents in the ground, the acrid smell wafts on the slight breeze._

_But up here on the slopes of Mount Kahleca, the air stirs sweetly. The pungent fragrance of the dhyara blossoms floats about me, my lungs absorb their perfume. I also smell the scent of the marash’ti spice wafting from the eternal fire at the gateway to the ante-chamber, the spicy fruity tang stimulates my breath._

_I hear the matinal chants of the priests as they prepare again their ritual to greet the dawn. They will light their torches from the sacred fire, then travel to the eastern promontory where they will sing the age-old hymn praising the unity of creation and unifying each individual with the Whole. They will drink the sun’s-blood in communion, joining together in a mass of mind energy linked to the Absolute, and that Power will bless the new day, ever-unfolding, ever-expanding, the Power which exists at each point of finitude in all of Its infinity._

_I hear the heavy gong chiming the start of the processional. The processional is led by the Great Master T’Lar, the High Priestess of the Temple._

_I hear the tinkle of wind bells in the air about me, the lapping of water trickling into the sacred pool before me, the light twitter of birds fluttering through the foliage._

_I look about the garden. Ferns cluster around giant boulders. There is life everywhere. On the far side of the pool, a stand of trees stretches farther than the eye can see, dark green foliage shades the southern corner of the temple. On the close side of the pond, cascades of purple saddh’isa flowers tumble in profusion toward the water’s edge. White waxen dhyara blossoms float on the placid water. I lean closer to breathe their sweet scent. Their beauty absorbs me. As I gaze into the pond, I see my own reflection; yet I do not quite recognize it._

_And then behind my reflection, I see the mirror image of a phoenix bird as large as myself, standing near, wings folded. Its green-gold plumage ruffles in the slight breeze. It watches me with eyes like crystal prisms. From the twin prisms glows a shimmering rainbow aura which envelops the bird. The aura expands, touches me. I feel warmth and love. Once more I smell marash'ti spice wafting about, more powerful than before, almost overwhelming in intensity._

_I turn to see the figure behind me._

_It is High Priestess T’Lar. She stands before me in scintillating white vestment, a gold-trimmed hood shading her tranquil ancient face. On her breast lies the gold medallion of her priesthood. In her left hand she holds a silver chalice filled with red-gold marash'ti nectar: sun’s- blood – the liquid distillation of solar blood-fire._

_She speaks to me in the ancient esoteric tongue, but I do not understand. The syllables are familiar, yet the clarity of apprehension eludes me. I cannot answer._

_She offers me the chalice. I stare at the shimmering liquid gold, inhale the spice._

_“Drink” she directs, and I put the chalice’s rim to my lips. The liquid is cool to my lips, but as it trickles down my throat it burns like liquid fire, like the lava-flows on the land surface below. Spirit-flame sears me. I cannot drink._

_She takes the chalice from my hands._  
~ ~ ~

Jim Kirk awoke in the middle of the night. He desperately needed a drink of water – for some reason, his throat burned fiercely.

Spock still lay atop him, still penetrated him. Under the Vulcan’s weight, Kirk’s left leg had gone numb. Pain still cramped his anus. He needed a drink of water, and he needed to use the toilet. His 55-year-old ass protested the peremptory abuse.

But he couldn’t get up, because Spock’s sleeping weight pinned him down. He could feel Spock's lips cool and dry on the side of his neck, Spock's hands on his body. He could feel wetness beneath his thighs.

“Spock,” he murmured to gently awaken his partner. “Spock, wake up.” The words scratched his dry throat. Spock moaned in sleep, squeezed Kirk closer.

Kirk tried to swallow to ease his throat. “Spock,” he spoke a little louder, “let me up.”

“Jim,” Spock moaned gently, and kissed Kirk’s nape sensually. A hand stroked Kirk’s flank.

“Please, Spock. I’ve got to go to the bathroom. Let me up.”

A noise deep in Spock's throat as he raised up a bit and began to disengage. The pain in Kirk’s bowels flared up as Spock's organ withdrew, but then Spock was out, and Kirk slid off the bed. His numb leg nearly buckled under him, but he was able to limp to the bathroom. Quickly he ducked his head down to the faucet for a drink of water. The cool wetness eased the burning discomfort in his throat, it felt so good, then he sat down on the toilet. It hurt, but it helped a little too. What would help even more was one of those pills McCoy had palmed him earlier. The doctor had offered him some lubricant and the pain pills, just in case Vulcan ritual overlooked such amenities. As it turned out, the lubricant hadn't been necessary, but the pills were most appreciated now. Kirk retrieved them from his pants’ pocket as he returned to the basin to wash his face and hands, and clean the stickiness from his thighs.

He stared at his face in the mirror. It felt good to wash the sweat off. McCoy’s pill was already beginning to work; Kirk felt the pain recede into dimness.

Spock appeared behind him in the mirror. “How are you?” the Vulcan’s deep voice queried.

Kirk returned a tiny smile to his friend’s mirror image. “A little sore, but I’ll live.”

“I am sorry, Jim, for… coercing you during the final part of our conjoining… I was not in complete control of myself. Please forgive me. I had no intention of hurting you – emotionally or physically.”

“I know that, Spock. How are you? Did we perform appropriately for the first night of your Pon Farr?”

“Not entirely, Admiral, but adequately. The anointing should have been completed before we joined.” The tall Vulcan followed Kirk back to the bedroom. “However, our lack of proper technique is understandable and acceptable. You have never done anything like this before, and I have never attempted it with a human male before. Our needs are not synchronous.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Kirk grinned, climbing back into bed. Spock climbed in with him, lay behind him, an arm across Kirk’s body, lips near Kirk’s ear. The Vulcan’s higher body heat warmed Kirk very comfortably, making up for some of the sore muscles suffered earlier that evening.

“Spock,” Kirk murmured.

“Mm?”

Kirk felt Spock's fingers lightly caress his belly. The feather touches tingled down to his crotch. “Spock, I’m not complaining, but next time, could you warn me before you… get down to business? Maybe there’s some other method we could use tomorrow night? Something not so rough on my rear. You sometimes forget your own strength.”

“I am indeed sorry,” Spock apologized again. “We shall modify it tomorrow. Sleep now, Jim. We shall speak later.”

They lay together in the dark, in each other’s warmth and closeness. Spock’s arms embraced his partner. Kirk felt sleep tugging at him again, but one more question nagged in his brain. “Spock?”

“Yes, Jim?”

Kirk turned his head back toward his partner. “I just had a very strange dream… I dreamed I was on Vulcan, at the temple. It was so vivid, I can hardly believe it was a dream. Was it a dream, Spock? or maybe some kind of hallucination caused by the mind-meld?”

“Neither,” Spock responded quietly, enigmatically.

“Then what was it?”

“You will understand later, Jim. For now you must sleep. Just allow whatever happens to happen.” Spock settled in comfortably against him. “Just sleep now, Admiral.”

Kirk heard Spock's breathing quiet into sleeping rhythm almost immediately. He lay awake a little longer in the dark. The quiet meditative Vulcan music had stopped some time during the night, the censers had gone out, but the spice scent still clung heavily in the air. He could smell it on himself, on Spock, as though their very skin was permeated with the sweet fragrance, he could smell it on Spock's gentle breath feathering lightly warmly, on his cheek. And he could taste it in his own mouth.

And behind his eyes, he saw again a beautiful placid aged face, her eyes glowing warmly like crystal prisms, but he did not know who she was.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Spock's time of Pon Farr, and with the ship in quarantine, and no Vulcan females around, there’s only one person Spock can turn to for assistance…
> 
> New – Chapter 6: Reaching his free hand to Kirk’s shoulder, Spock urged his friend back down on the bed. Kirk allowed himself to be urged back down to meet eager Vulcan lips, tongue probing into his mouth – if that kept up, he’d be late for duty-shift; he felt warm pressure begin to swell again.

The alarm timer hummed, jerking Kirk abruptly from a dreamless sleep. Spock roused beside him. The bedside chronometer announced that the time was 0700 hours – Kirk had one hour to transform back into a starship commander before duty-shift began at 0800.

But for the moment he remained in bed. He didn’t want to get up yet. Not yet. Just lie here for a few minutes longer in Spock's warmth, and let his consciousness slowly readjust to the solid three-dimensional reality on the other side of the cabin’s front wall. Just release this strange ethereal exotic forbidden experience, and prepare once again for command duties this morning.

The uncancelled alarm sounded again at 07:10. With protesting effort, Kirk shut off the alarm and rolled out of bed.

“Spock,” he half-apologized, “I guess I’d better go now. I’ve… got to report to duty, whether I like it or not… I don’t mean to leave you…”

“Of course, Admiral.” Spock rolled to one elbow, closer to Kirk who’d gotten as far as sitting on the edge of the bed. “I shall wait for you to return this evening.” And then reaching his free hand to Kirk’s shoulder, Spock urged his friend back down. Kirk allowed himself to be urged back down to meet eager Vulcan lips, tongue probing into his mouth – if that kept up, he wouldn’t be able to leave; he felt warm pressure begin to swell in his genitals again. But then Spock released him.

Kirk forced himself to actually get off the bed and stand up. “I’ll be back to check on you as often as I can,” he promised, “and then as soon as shift is over, I’ll come back to stay for the night. Is that all right?”

“Yes, Jim, that is fine,” the Vulcan assured.

Kirk gathered up his clothes from the bathroom, then left his friend, and went to his own quarters next door to shower and dress.

The shower felt so good, as hot as he could stand it, so soothing to his aches and pains. The spice fragrance on his skin scented the billowing steam. Had he really agreed to a liaison with his first-officer? A hundred questions tumbled inside his head, a hundred feelings quivered in his gut. His love for Spock, his duties to the captaincy, sexual anxiety… sexual pleasure… At least it was obvious now why Starfleet had refused to acknowledge awareness of any prior situations occurring on other ships – Kirk himself wouldn’t want anyone else to learn of this necessary-but-most-intimate incident occurring right now on the Enterprise. He’d been wondering earlier how he would enter all of this into his personal log. And what did Spock intend to enter into his log, and McCoy into his?

The door buzzer announced a visitor. “Come in,” Kirk called, half-expecting Spock to walk in. The wall slid open.

It was Doctor McCoy. With tricorder slung over one shoulder and scanner in hand, he entered Kirk’s quarters.

“Well, hello, Doctor,” Kirk greeted with a smile. “So, you’ve decided to start making house-calls now?” He reached for his clothes draped over the bedside chair.

“Hold it,” McCoy interrupted. “Don’t get dressed yet. Not until I check you over. I want to see for myself that your activities last night didn’t scramble your brains or harm you in any way, before I let you go back on duty this morning.”

Kirk knew better than to argue with his ship’s-doctor, but he protested anyway. “Bones, I’ve got to be on the bridge in ten minutes. Believe me, I’m fine. My brains are not scrambled, and my body is healthy. My backside’s a little sore, but I’m fine. Really.”

“That’s good to hear,” the medic acknowledged. “And as soon as my exam verifies that, you’ll be free to go. And anyway, you don’t go on duty for another half-hour.”

“Bones…”

McCoy shrugged. “The longer you take to settle down, the longer we’ll be here. Now, lie down on the bed and let me get on with this.”

Resignedly Kirk lay down on his bed. McCoy sat beside him, tricorder in hand. Carefully he ran the scanner over Kirk’s body. A practiced eye studied the results. “Jim, how far did he penetrate into you?” he asked point-blank, ignoring any last shreds of modesty which Kirk might have been trying to hold onto. “I’m reading irritation deep inside.”

Kirk surrendered to his best friend’s frank professional candor. “I don’t know. He went in deep, I can assure you of that,” the admiral admitted, then reiterated lamely, “But I’m all right.” He pushed up to his elbows. “Now may I get on with my duties, Doctor McCoy, sir?”

“No… no yet. Not until we talk.” Lowering his instrument, McCoy urged, “So, how are you, Jim, really?”

Kirk smiled a little at the doctor. “I’m doing fine, Bones. Honestly.”

McCoy watched him intently, looking for any sign of false assurance in Kirk’s eyes, any sign of muscle tremors in his limbs. “Jim” he admitted, ”I know what you were going through the other day. You were thinking about Krugh, weren’t you? what he did to you… The neuralgia was back, wasn’t it? You were pretty distraught.”

Kirk resigned himself to the truth. “Of course I was distraught. What happened to me… back then… isn’t something I can forget. I control it so I can get on with my life, but I can’t forget… and it always hurts to be reminded of it.”

Compassion warmed in the doctor’s eyes. “What Spock proposed to you must have cut pretty deep.”

Kirk’s shoulders lifted. “It did… but we didn’t have a choice, and we don’t. I just have to control it a little tighter this week, that’s all. Spock didn’t mean to bring up old memories. With Pon Farr on his mind, he just wasn’t thinking of it – and I wouldn’t expect him to. We had some rough times last night, but he helped me through them. This is… entirely different from… what happened with Krugh…”

“I know,” McCoy assured gently, and dropped the discomforting subject. “So, tell me, otherwise, what was it like, the first night of Pon Farr?”

A slow shake of head. “Unbelievable. I really can hardly answer you, Bones. It’s not what I expected – although I can’t really say what I did expect – and I certainly don’t pretend to understand the significance of everything that happened… I realize you don’t approve of the fact that we had physical relations, but…”

“It’s not that I don’t approve,” McCoy interjected, “… well, I don’t, under normal circumstances… But I agreed that this was a particularly unique situation… and I did offer – and that offer still stands – to take your place, if need be, regardless of my personal opinion on the subject.”

“Yes, you did,” Kirk acknowledged,” although I’m still sure that won’t be necessary. I think I can see it through.”

“What was the actual act like?” McCoy inquired again. “Was it really that different from…”

“From human sex?” A tiny grin tugged at Kirk’s lips, as he attempted to evade the doctor’s intimate prying. “Tell me, Bones, are you asking in order to determine my command fitness this morning, or maybe to satisfy a little personal libidinous curiosity? Or perhaps the medical researcher inside has discovered a new project to study and probe?”

“The only thing around here that I’m going to probe is you, Admiral, since you don’t appear to be in a very conversant mood this morning.” McCoy was pulling on plastic gloves. “So drop your pants, roll over onto your belly, and let me finish my exam.”

“Oh no, Bones, please no… You know I hate that.”

“Now, c’mon, you’ve put up with it for twenty-eight years as part of your routine yearly physical, so stop complaining. Just relax and surrender to the inevitable.”

“… and I’ve hated it every one of those twenty-eight years. Please, Doctor, do you intend to subject me to this all week long?”

“I’ll subject you to it whenever I deem it necessary, Admiral. So, the sooner you stop procrastinating, and coöperate with me instead, the sooner we’ll both get this over with. Now, roll over and lie still. That’s an order.”

“Yes sir, Commander McCoy, sir.” Glumly Kirk resigned himself to obey, and turned over on the bed onto his stomach, upper body propped up on his elbows. A glance back over his shoulder. “Doctor McCoy, sir, you are a sadist.”

“Yeah, that’s what all us poor humble innocent practitioners of the medical arts have been accused of for the past eight-thousand years. Now lie down flat, Admiral Kirk, sir.”

Kirk lay down flat, while McCoy lubricated his gloved fingers. “Bones, please,” Kirk tried to plead for his dignity one last time, “this really isn’t necessary… ohh!” McCoy’s examining fingers pushed in; Kirk grabbed the bed-frame, steeling himself to keep from squirming away. Curse between clenched teeth. “… gddmmit! that hurts!”

McCoy ignored his desperate pleas. Instead the medic demanded, “Hold still. I can’t feel anything unless you lie still and relax.”

“I _am_ holding still,” Kirk insisted through clenched teeth, holding still by gripping the bed-frame for dear life, “and I _can_ feel!”

“And relax. You’re bleeding a little.”

“Damn right I’m bleeding! And you’re not helping any.” Kirk tried the best he could to relax. He hadn't realized before just how sore Spock's enthusiasm had left him. And McCoy’s efficient practical professionalism was just making it worse. Kirk felt like griping. “Doctor, your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired this morning… oww!”

McCoy had no sympathy. “So register a grievance with the Surgeon-General’s office.” He was inserting some antiseptic-soaked gauze. “I don’t know why you’re complaining anyway. This is nothing compared to what Spock must have done to you last night.”

“Dammit, Bones, now you’re getting personal.” Kirk winced against the discomfort of the medic’s intimate probing. “I think you’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Doctor? – my pain and loss of dignity.”

“No, not particularly.” McCoy continued packing the gauze in deep. “But if you’d rather, I’ll call Doctor Chapel to take my place. She’d probably get a big kick out of this.”

A instant change of heart overwhelmed Kirk. Most coöperatively he assured, “Uh, no, that won’t be necessary after all… you just continue on, do whatever you have to do… I won’t say another word, I promise.”

“I’m done, anyway.” McCoy pulled off the thin plastic gloves. “I’ve packed you with iodoform gauze soaked in procaine. That ought to stop your pain right away. And otherwise you appear to be fine. You can finish dressing now.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Kirk responded gratefully. “As usual, your skill is without equal.” A little stiffly he swung his legs off the bed and sat up. To himself he made a tight face regarding the full-pressure feeling of the packing.

“I knew you’d finally see it my way,” McCoy agreed.

While McCoy washed his hands in the bathroom, Kirk pulled on the rest of his uniform: black pants, black boots, white high-necked silk blouse, dark-red jacket. At least, he hoped, perhaps a little of his dignity was still left intact. Already he could sense the anaesthetic numbing him inside, and that was a blessing, but even so it didn’t reach anywhere near as deep as Spock had penetrated into him. He could still feel soreness deep inside. “Bones,” he called to the bathroom, “do you have any more of those pills you gave me yesterday? I could use a couple right now.”

“Sure. Just a sec.” McCoy reëntered the bedroom and sat down on the chair near the head of the bed to reach for his medi-kit. Standing before the dressing table, combing his hair, Kirk could see the doctor’s reflection in the mirror. McCoy tossed a small packet to him. “Here you go. I’ll give you more later if you need ‘em.”

“Thanks, Bones.” Kirk grinned. “You’re really appreciated around here.”

“Not nearly as much as I oughtta be,” the doctor griped. His tone gentled. “All right, now that business is completed, now tell me, what was it like?”

A gentle light smiled in Kirk’s eyes as he dropped the banter and became more serious. “I’m really not sure I can answer that, Bones. You know, when Spock said the ritual is an extremely private experience not to be discussed with others, I assumed he meant it as a rule of social propriety, that it was not socially acceptable to discuss the function openly. But that’s not it – at least not all of it. You don’t discuss it because you _can’t_ discuss it. There are no man-made words that would truly express… what I went through… You know, Bones, we shouldn’t make the mistake of assuming that just because Vulcans show but little emotion that they have but little emotion inside of them…”

– McCoy nodded his head in silent agreement –

“… While we were melded, I felt him in my mind, I felt emotion greater than I’ve ever experienced before, like a brilliant prism of color penetrating my very being, like incredible music in my soul… For a short time I was inside him, and he in me. I saw things through his eyes, I understood… Bones, I felt Vulcan passion boiling in my blood… you can’t imagine what that’s like… And the sex itself was – I’m not even sure how to express it – well, it was better than anything I’ve ever had with a woman, a human… The only difficulty so far has been, as Spock put it to aptly, human and Vulcan sexual behaviors are not synchronous. I couldn’t last nearly as long as he wanted me to… but I’m sure we’ll work out a system somehow.” Kirk’s eyes had lost focus as he gazed back into the night’s flood of powerful love and passions. “… Bones…”

“Yes?”

Kirk’s gaze shifted to the doctor’s face in the mirror. “Bones, that man who calls himself our friend… is a very special man.”

“I know that, Jim.”

“… I was inside his head… I saw… I felt what he feels… I know… Bones, he loves us… even though he rarely shows it, and even though we often misunderstand why he does things the way he does or says things the way he says them… he loves us both, very deeply… I love him, Bones, I really do… he’s very special.”

“Yes, Jim. He is. Very special.”

Kirk was lost in meditation again. “You know, Spock was right – melding at such an intense level of love produces an almost indescribable sensation of oneness, of unity… Forgive me, I’m not doing a very good job trying to explain this… my words sound so foolish.”

McCoy shook his head. “No they don’t. Profound experiences express more deeply than our limited vocabularies – our ‘man-made’ words – are capable of encompassing and defining. I don’t expect you to be able to completely enlighten me – that’s impossible. I just wanted to hear your thoughts on your first experience of the first night of a private Vulcan ritual. Very few humans ever receive the privilege of participating in anything like that.”

“My thoughts,” Kirk echoed with a tiny smile. “I guess I’m thinking how shallow human desires and ideas, and even our emotions – of which we’re so proud – seem, compared to the Vulcan. We always accuse them of not understanding beyond that which is materially provable… and yet beneath that emotionless façade, they open themselves to powerful emotions and passions beyond our comprehension, beyond our grasp.”

“I think you’re missing one point though, Jim,” McCoy disagreed. “It’s not that those passions, those depths, are beyond our grasp. I think they are just as much within our grasp as the Vulcans’, but we refuse to believe that we’re capable of such occult reality, we refuse to accept the fact that we’re worthy, we refuse to acknowledge that such a thing even exists. To a Vulcan, it’s enough to know that he loves and is loved; and since he accepts that as a given, he feels no need to constantly reiterate what is to him unchangeable and obvious. Humans, on the other hand, are so afraid of being alone and unloved, that we crave constant reassurance that we’re the object of someone’s affection. It’s very difficult for us to keep faith in the constancy of someone else’s love and appreciation unless we’re continually smothered by words and shows of affection. We’d go crazy if we had to wait seven years to be assured that the object of our love loves us in return … god knows I would – I don’t know how Spock's mother stands it! But that doesn’t mean that we aren’t capable of deeper, more mature levels of love and behavior and understanding. The Vulcans know that they know, and feel no need to express it; we express only our surface understanding, and do not know that we know… Am I talking sense?”

Kirk nodded briefly. “Yes, Bones, you are.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Spock's time of Pon Farr, and with the ship in quarantine, and no Vulcan females around, there’s only one person Spock can turn to for assistance…
> 
> New – Chapter 7: Kirk’s oiled fingers found Spock's nipples, pinched them, rolled them between thumb and forefinger. Spock reacted strongly, practically losing his breath, moaning, gasping for air, writhing in Kirk’s grasp, and Kirk smiled to himself again – he hadn't known before just how sensitive Spock's nipples were. He would remember that for later, perhaps some time when he felt like driving a certain Vulcan out of his mind with ecstasy.

But later, back at his desk, amid mountains of patient charts and lab reports and log entries and half-a-dozen dirty coffee cups, McCoy wondered if any of this made any sense at all. The admiral and Spock making love… such a thing couldn’t transpire without leaving behind some ill after-effects. Yes, it was obviously necessary, to save Spock's life. But if things got out of hand, there would be hell to pay. The two men already had strong mental bonds: add to that, the compelling explosive quality of powerful sexual desires, and there was a very good chance that everything else in the world would take second place – including starship command.

McCoy didn’t believe that either man would ever carelessly act to the detriment of the ship or her crew – certainly they would both lay down their lives before recklessly endangering the Enterprise or the 693 people entrusted to their care. But at this particular moment, neither was in complete control of his mental faculties. Now Spock wrestled in the throes of his own physiological betrayal which destroyed his self-control, and Jim was very vulnerable and open to his influence – as always, but particularly now. What hazards lay in that unknown? what potential dangers, perils? And what would it mean to a crippled ship sitting dead in space on the edge of enemy territory, and to a crew one-third seriously ill, to have both command officers incapacitated for any length of time?

And what could McCoy have done differently?

Other than that, everything was fine as a Carolina summer mornin’. Yes indeed.

The computer alarm beeped. Good – the NV factor tests were done. McCoy turned his attention to the terminal, keyed up the results. The numbers looked normal enough: elevated in those patients who’d been sick the longest, sub-normal in those recently showing symptoms. But the curve was a lot sharper than he’d ever seen before. It reminded him slightly of the B bacillus alfredii concentrations – and come to think of it, there were other similarities between the alfredii and this new horror of a bug decimating the Enterprise crew, like the ANR readings. However, TTR comparisons made no sense at all. Granted, it was possible that this new bacteria was some related alfredii mutation – how likely that was, McCoy couldn’t really say. But with that in mind, he’d start some comparative studies.

… dear god, a little luck right now would be mighty appreciated… mighty appreciated… damn, he was tired. He’d go to the lab and set up the tests, then maybe he could sneak a little nap – maybe even a whole hour, if no one disturbed him… now _there_ was a fantasy thought – he’d better ease up on the junk he’d been shooting into his veins; those vitalizers and inoculations were going to his head…!

… Spock and Jim… why had it worked out that way? why hadn’t someone come up with an alternative? anything but that… Should McCoy have insisted and offered himself? could he have brought himself to do that… even for the Vulcan?... Yes, he probably could – in fact, there was no ‘probably’ to it. He’d have done it… and prayed to God that Maggie never found out.

But the decision had already been made… and it didn’t include him.  
* * * * *

At least, Kirk consoled himself, duty shift did not repeat the insanity of the previous day. For a day anyway, the epidemic stabilized – no more victims for the time being – and Doctor McCoy was able to get more than an hour’s sleep. No new disasters incapacitated the ship; and indeed, Scott even reported a “wee bit of headway” with engine repair.

All that demanded captaincy’s attention today were simple daily chores, and Kirk welcomed the respite gratefully. He felt much better – the good doctor’s pills and anaesthetic had helped quite a bit – at least he could sit in his command chair without too much pain. He would definitely speak with Spock about possibly adapting their mutual technique tonight. In fact, he’d promised to join Spock for lunch – then would be an opportune time for a little discussion before renewing the evening’s rites.

Kirk counted himself very lucky and very honored to be considered a friend by Spock, and even more that Spock considered him a brother. Vulcans characteristically made few friendships outside their own kind – most other races could not match their intellectual and philosophical ideals; and Earth humans in particular – as even McCoy had agreed – were notorious for their mental and emotional immaturity.

Kirk had often wondered why Spock had accepted him as a friend, brother, and even near-lover – even beyond this present Pon Farr situation – Kirk didn’t feel that different from the rest of his imperfect fellow humans so civilly tolerated by the higher intellect of their Vulcan neighbors. Polite disinterest would probably best describe Vulcan’s attitude toward Earth.

And yet Spock had always treated him as an equal, or near-equal at least, and certainly the Vulcan’s professional loyalty to his captain was beyond any question.  
* * * * *

The evening had started out similar to the previous one. Stripped down to linen skirts, they cleansed each other ritually before the altar in the bathroom, then knelt to meditate in the bedchamber. Kirk noticed that the two acts really did effectively calm body and mind, releasing the stress and rigors of the day. As before, the world outside faded into insignificance; and reality enveloped the two men inside in an aura of spice-scent and temple bells and candlelight.

Now Kirk sat on the edge of the bed beside Spock's prone body. After cleansing with the sweet-scented water, they had dried off and changed into dry skirts, then moved to the bed to perform the anointing. Unlike the previous night’s hesitant attempt, Kirk no longer needed persuasion to participate. He had chosen to override his shame, and allow himself the pleasure of this strange yet alluring sexual encounter from now on – he would question no longer.

In an attempt to delay Kirk’s climax this night, Spock had hardly touched Kirk yet; and they did not strip completely for the anointing. They left the skirts on, although that was not meant to prevent Kirk from massaging beneath the material when he got that far. And after Kirk had completed his part, then they would exchange positions, and Spock would anoint Kirk, and not until then would they meld consciousnesses. Even yet, Kirk could recall the touch of long slender strong fingers stroking, electrifying his body, probing his mind; and that thought alone stirred a warm gentle sensation between his thighs.

Spock lay stretched out face-down on the bed, hands folded beneath his right cheek. Kirk looked down at the profile of the man, and smiled to himself. In the dim golden light, the weathered lines of fifty-plus years cast shadows in stark relief on the silent Vulcan countenance; and Kirk knew that a great many forces of those same fifty years had also carved his own visage. And Kirk knew that he loved this man as he loved a brother… and more: as he loved a soul-mate locked eternally with his own being. An he knew now too that he was locked within Spock's soul as well, just as securely and just as deeply.

Spock's yellowish skin paled in the dim warm room light. His hair, usually combed and sheened to military perfection, now lay dry and tousled about his nape, his ears, his forehead.

A shallow white porcelain dish rimmed in gold and decorated with golden symbols, filled with soft white spice-scented lotion, sat on the bed near the two men.

Dipping a hand into the lotion, Kirk rubbed the cream between his warm palms, then took Spock's shoulders with a firm grip and began to work the sinewy flesh. Spock stretched and tightened his muscles beneath Kirk’s probing fingers. Kirk rubbed, squeezed Spock's shoulders, upper arms, fingers manipulated Spock's vertebrae from his nape, down between his shoulder blades, worked the scapulae, worked the flesh firmly to bring warm blood to the surface.

Then taking another handful of cream, Kirk began on Spock's lower back and flanks. The muscles responded desirously to Kirk’s touch. Fingers pushed an inch beneath the waistband of Spock's skirt, then slid back up, hands took the breadth of Spock's chest, cupped his breasts. Spock moaned, squirmed in pleasure; oiled fingers found Spock's nipples, pinched them, rolled them between thumb and forefinger. Spock reacted strongly, practically losing his breath, moaning, gasping for air, writhing in Kirk’s grasp, and Kirk smiled to himself again – he hadn't known before just how sensitive Spock's nipples were. He would remember that for later, perhaps some time when he felt like driving a certain Vulcan out of his mind with ecstasy. For now he released the tits, allowing Spock to relax and regain his breath, although the respite didn’t last. Kirk’s stimulating fingers pushed beneath Spock's body, moved back down Spock's flanks, his spine, down over the brief skirt covering firm-muscled hips, then back up beneath the material. Again Spock responded strongly to the firm grip kneading his buttocks.

Momentarily Kirk delayed, pushing his hand back into the unguent, then smeared the spice-lotion all over hard gluteal muscles. Spock was responding, breath shallow and irregular, body moving beneath Kirk’s touch, craving more… and Kirk gave him more. Deliberately, without warning, Kirk slid a lubricated finger up the cleavage of Spock's buttocks.

Spock cried out in surprise, body writhed abruptly, just the way Kirk had hoped it would. A tremendous sexual power surged through Kirk’s body, clutching his own genitals in precious exquisite agony, and he smiled in satisfaction.

Spock's body was seething with ecstasy, squirming under Kirk’s hands, responding vigorously. With a moan, he rolled over, allowing Kirk access to complete the massage.

Kirk took his time, just watched his friend, smiling at Spock’s strain, the powerful emotions ripping through the usually-inscrutable Vulcan façade. Spock’s hands gripped the sides of the bed, then he reached up to grasp Kirk’s upper arms. Kirk remained still until Spock pulled him down on top, and then Kirk lay on top of him, willingly met Spock's parted lips, tongues probed for a very deep kiss, bare chests pressed together. Spock did not relinquish his grip on Kirk’s arms, but gripped him tightly as though never to free him, tongued as deeply as possible into Kirk’s mouth. Eagerly Kirk reciprocated, teasing and prodding with his own tongue, hands braced on either side of Spock's body. Their lower bodies did not touch yet, as Kirk still sat to the side of Spock. Kirk breathed the warm aroma of spice which Spock's skin gave off; he drank the scent. He felt Spock trembling beneath him – he too was trembling with passion. They kissed, and kissed again, each sensing in the other an insatiable hunger, each attempting to satisfy the other, yet unable to do so; Spock's power enveloped Kirk, overwhelming power devoured him. Kirk’s genitals throbbed madly; and he knew that beneath Spock's brief linen skirt, the firm Vulcan organ squirmed potently in anticipation of Kirk’s submission.

And then abruptly Spock released Kirk and lay back, arms at his sides once more, although quivering limbs belied his sudden regaining of composure.

“Please,” he requested in a low voice. “Please continue to lubricate me… We must complete the anointing this time.”

“All right,” Kirk agreed, although half-disappointed to interrupt sweet eager kisses. And dipping his fingers into the cream again, he oiled both hands, then began working on Spock's right leg. He started up beneath the skirt at the groin – although he deliberately did not touch Vulcan genitals – worked the long slender muscular thigh, down the calf, down to the foot. Sensually he massaged for awhile, then repeated the entire sequence with Spock's left leg: thigh, calf, foot.

Kirk would have been lying to himself if he’d said that he still disapproved of the erotic activity in which he and Spock were now engaged. Perhaps he’d sincerely meant it an eternity of two nights ago when he and Spock and McCoy had discussed the matter so calmly and dispassionately in Kirk’s quarters. But that time now was so far removed from the actual present reality of having a warm responsive body beneath his hands; and it pleased Kirk greatly to be able to pleasure his best friend to ecstasy.

Next, he moved his attention back up to Spock's shoulders, massaged them from the front. Spock watched him with dark liquid eyes. Kirk wanted to kiss him again so badly – those thin Vulcan lips looked so arousing right now.

But he controlled the desire, because if they gave in right now to the thousand passionate urges that goaded each of them, they’d never complete the anointing.

Kirk rubbed the lotion down Spock's arms, both arms simultaneously, clasped hands with him, interlocked fingers. Again Kirk felt Spock's strong handclasp, strong almost to the point of pain, but that was all right, they were both experiencing intense bodily demands which asserted immediate fulfillment.

Then releasing Spock's grasp, Kirk laid both hands on the slight swell of pectorals, pressed them, squeezed them, fingers stroked up and down Spock's sternum. Involuntary quivers shot through Spock's muscles, face taut, eyes closed against the barrage of emotion that roiled inside him. Once more Kirk let his fingertips feather-drift over roseate aureoles, and smiled as his action created the desired effect. Spock jerked as if he’d been shocked, moaning and writhing in pure physical pleasure. And Kirk found his own pleasure in enjoying the fact that his dear old friend now wrestled in the exquisite embrace of uncontrolled passion.

And Kirk wondered what ultimate pleasure the seventh night would promise.

His hands slid from Spock's breasts down his slender flat abdomen, slender hips, scenting him with fragrant oil. The fragrance rose from the heat of Spock's body. Kirk was finding it to be a very arousing scent… breathing it all the time he was with Spock these nights, enthralled by passion – passion he never dreamed he’d be feeling one day for the man lying before him.

Spock was looking at Kirk too. He did not speak, but silently watched his human friend, saw the love and pleasure in the other man’s eyes… and accepted it.

And Kirk knew that because of this week, they were bonded more deeply than they’d ever been before… and proud Vulcan blood did not bond easily. And he knew he was seeing a different Spock than he’d ever known before.

In the ancient days, centuries ago on Vulcan, Spock's ancestors had belonged to the warrior caste, and whatever alien fire it was that had burned in their blood centuries ago, it still lived in their veins now – Kirk had recognized it in Spock's father, Sarek, and he’d seen it in Spock before, as well.

And now as Spock lay on the bed, hard-muscled body rubbed to a gleam, he looked every bit the powerful legendary warrior of antiquity, oiled and stripped to a coarse linen skirt, prepared for battle, confident, lithe, sleek. In Kirk’s own veins also flowed a soldier’s spirit – and in another time and place, he and Spock could have met in blood-battle as relentless enemies; but in real time and place they met as soul-mates unified, they met in love, total profound fathomless love; and the two aging warriors shared a bed instead of a battlefield.

One part of Spock's body remained to be oiled, and this time Kirk felt no hesitancy. And pushing a hand into the white cream, he reached for the alien organ that soon would penetrate deep into his own body.

But as he reached, Spock gripped his wrists, interrupting him – unlike the previous night when he’d urged Kirk to take hold of it and rub it.

“Not yet,” Spock murmured. “I shall anoint you first… and then we shall prepare each other.” And wiping the lotion from Kirk’s hand onto his own hands, the Vulcan took Kirk by the shoulders and began to knead. Then pulling Kirk down, he changed positions with him so that Kirk was lying face-up on the bed, and Spock was kneeling beside him.

And now Kirk felt the bliss of being on the receiving end of slow erotic touching. Spock's touch was exquisite.

Kirk closed his eyes.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more Kirk closed his eyes, feeling long Vulcan fingers stroke him and massage him and love him. He had to admit to himself that Spock knew how to get more out of foreplay than anyone else Kirk had ever made love with. No doubt, Spock had a number of talents which Starfleet knew nothing about.

Firm fingers worked his flesh as his own fingers had worked Vulcan flesh, fingers worked him to the point of pain, and it felt so good. Kirk responded sensually, offering resistance to the massaging fingers, then going limp; tensing, relaxing, tensing again. Hands smoothed warm oil over his breasts, the scent overpowered him, leaked into his nose and mouth. He felt the warmth of Spock’s hands sliding over his body, the warmth and the electric tingle of his touch.

And then Spock offered a favorite pleasure to his friend: he gently pinched Kirk’s nipples, rubbed them with fingertips. Kirk’s breath caught with surprise – the stimulation was acute – he always enjoyed having his nipples caressed anyway, but Spock's experienced touch knew precisely how to elicit such superlative ecstasy that Kirk’s eyes half-closed and throbbing pressure swelled his genitals.

“Spock…” he moaned, reaching hands up to take the Vulcan’s wrists, to cover the Vulcan’s hands on his breasts.

Spock said nothing, but played a little while longer, while Kirk’s breathing grew shallow and ragged. Then Kirk felt the touch leave his body momentarily, to return with more lotion. The silken unguent soothed his hot skin, so sensual, so erotic. Spock's loving fingers caressed Kirk’s belly, flanks, hips; then deliberately, hand thick with spice-lotion, Spock pushed his hand down between Kirk’s legs, beneath the skirt, and gripped.

Kirk gasped in shock, moth open, eyes glazed. Spock's hand did not move, did not rub, just held firmly, deliberately. Desirously Kirk tried to move against the pressure to pleasure himself, but Spock wouldn’t let him. Instead, he made him simply lie there and feel the warm creamy pressure, just feel it.

Again Kirk’s own hand gripped Spock's, little whimpers broke from his throat. Right then he wanted Spock to take him, right then, but Spock would not do that either. Kirk could hardly catch his breath. Breathlessly he managed to gasp, “… Spock… you’re torturing me…”

“Lie still, Jim,” Spock whispered, “just lie still.”

Kirk tried to lie still, he tried very hard. He felt Spock's loving grasp tantalize him, and very carefully he controlled his breathing.

And then Spock released him, returned to the anointing, began oiling Kirk’s thighs.

“Please, Spock,” Kirk begged desperately, “take me now. Please.”

But Spock just continued rubbing Kirk’s legs. “Not yet,” he refused gently. “I must complete oiling you… And then I shall join with you. Please be patient, Jim.”

“I’m trying, Spock… it’s very difficult.”

“… as it is for me as well,” Spock agreed.

Once more Kirk closed his eyes, feeling long Vulcan fingers stroke him and massage him and love him. He had to admit to himself that Spock knew how to get more out of foreplay than anyone else Kirk had ever made love with. No doubt, Spock had a number of talents which Starfleet knew nothing about.

And then Spock was kneeling over him, rubbing him with large motions, rocking over him, stroking him from shoulders to hips, slow intense movements; Spock's breathing had deepened, now it dragged from his lungs in rhythmic gasping moans. Kirk realized that neither of them was going to last much longer.

And then Spock sat back, the anointing finally completed. Facial expression one of partial hypnosis, still entranced by sexual arousal, he commented, “Our joining tonight should not be interrupted. Therefore, I would suggest that if you must use the lavatory facilities, perhaps you should do so now. Once we are copulated, we preferably should remain so until morning.”

Reluctantly Kirk forced his relaxed limbs to push himself up to a sitting position. He managed a tiny smile at his partner. “Well, in that case, I think I’d better. Please excuse me for a minute.”

Spock returned the smile ever so slightly as he allowed Kirk off the bed. “A minute,” he agreed. “May I request that you not take any longer… please do not keep me waiting.”

Kirk’s smile turned into a wry grin. “I don’t intend to keep either one of us waiting.”

He took care of business as quickly as possible, so that he could get back to Spock as quickly as possible with the least interruption. Now hopefully he would not feel the need to get up again in the middle of the night, as he had the previous night. Now, hopefully, nothing would interrupt the ritual – or their pleasure.

As Kirk rinsed his hands in the wash-basin, Spock entered the bathroom. Kirk grinned at the Vulcan’s reflection in the mirror. “Is my minute up?” he inquired playfully.

“It is up,” the Vulcan announced, stepping up behind Kirk to slide loving arms around Kirk’s chest. Kirk let himself be pressed back against Spock's near-nude body. Spock was looking down at Kirk’s bare shoulder with erotic interest.

“I love you, Jim.”

“I love you too.”

And then Spock's head lowered the few inches necessary to kiss the spot of bare skin that held his gaze. Kirk released a breath, felt the pleasant sensation of Spock's cool dry lips vibrate through him. Spock's hands slid up and down Kirk’s flanks, then moved up to his breasts, deliberately cupped the nearly-hairless pectorals, then each thumb and forefinger found a sensitive nipple to play with. Again Kirk felt breath dragged from him, as erotic pleasure stimulated every nerve in his body. Spock's tongue prodded the spot where the muscle of his neck joined the muscle of his left shoulder, then moved up his neck, leaving a quivering wet trail, to the base of his ear. Kirk had to brace himself on straight arms against the basin counter. Fingertips rubbed his nipples. The human’s face tightened in sensual delight; he could feel his organ squirm with anticipated excitement.

“Spock…” he gasped again.

Spock was panting, tongue probing Kirk’s nape, throat, up the side of his face. Then back to his nape, found his vertebrae, worked down the hollow of his spine little by little. Shivery tendrils tingled all the way down, lancing through Kirk’s nerves.

Kirk stood there, braced against the counter, while Spock sank slowly to his knees, tonguing all the way down, hands sliding down Kirk’s sides again. Blood pulsed in Kirk’s cock, swelling it erect, and filling him with overpowering desire again. And now, he promised himself, there would be no further delay.

Spock was now kneeling behind Kirk, hands gripping Kirk’s hips, pushing the skirt up, tongue prodding at Kirk’s tailbone.

“Spock… please…!” Kirk moaned again, unable to bear the mind-quivering sensation of Spock's hands gripping and squeezing the mounds of his buttocks, and Spock's wet tongue squirming and prodding desirously at the base of his spine. “… please take me now… please…” He was losing muscle tone very quickly. “…please, Spock…”

Spock kissed his tailbone once more. “Then come back to bed with me,” he whispered. “Come now, Jim.”

Kirk wanted to, but he really wasn’t sure his trembling legs wouldn’t just give out from under him if he actually tried to take a step.

Another maddening arousing lick to his coccyx, for which Kirk though he might very easily orgasm right then and there; then Spock arose again behind him, and offering light support to Kirk’s shoulders, assisted him back to the bedroom.

Kirk collapsed face-up on the bed, half-dazed with pleasure, limbs akimbo, one knee drawn up. Spock knelt between Kirk’s spread legs, facing his lover. And then the Vulcan unfastened his own skirt, tossed it carelessly aside, then undid Kirk’s, slid it out from under him, and let it fall to the floor.

Then shoving his hand into the spice lotion once more, Spock took Kirk’s hand, oiled it, then put it to the squirming Vulcan cock. Eagerly Kirk took it, began working it skillfully. Spock breathed in pleasure, head tipped back, eyes closed, mouth open, drawing broken gasps. More than a woman, a man would know precisely how to stimulate a male organ most acutely.

Spock returned the overwhelming favor. Kirk nearly lost his breath. His own massaging of Spock's organ increased excitedly, which prompted Spock to increase the tension on Kirk’s. Kirk’s facial muscles grimaced in a rictus of ecstasy, as did the Vulcan’s, face slick with beading sweat.

Again Spock took a handful of lotion, and this time the long Vulcan fingers pushed down between Kirk’s thighs into gluteal cleavage, found his anus and slid in. Abruptly a huge shudder raced through Kirk, a sharp “oh!” broke from his lips, rictus gave way to shock, his organ swelled with the acute sensation, a fraction of an inch away from explosive climax. He felt two slender fingers work their way inside him, pushing lubricating cream deep into his channel, stimulating extremely sensitive nerve endings of his anus and rectum, massaging his prostate, and only the last strand of superhuman control held back cataclysmic release, and even that thread was fraying now.

Finally Spock's probing fingers withdrew, only to take his own pulsing organ and push it into the well-lubricated opening, while he and Kirk remained facing each other.

A cry burst from Kirk’s throat; hips raised, legs lifted and locked around the Vulcan body to allow the penetrating cock deeper access; orgasm so close for both of them, so close… so close… And then Spock stretched out between Kirk’s raised legs, lowered his weight onto Kirk until they lay corps-á-corps. Kirk felt Spock's prick working into him, deeper and deeper into his bowels; felt his own caught and pressed tightly between their working sliding squirming bodies. His arms embraced Spock intensely tightly, open mouth desperately, hungrily, searching Spock's face, found his hungry mouth, met it with hot mutual passion, while his pelvis thrust up strongly against Spock's groin, in rhythm with Spock's own continual thrusting even more deeply into Kirk, bodies locked in mutual orgasm. Spock's right hand found Kirk’s organ, squeezed it, began to manipulate it into its ultimate throes of climax; then his left hand reached up to Kirk’s face even as they kissed devouring eager kisses, and locked into a mind-meld.

Massive mind-energy channeled into Kirk’s brain. He nearly screamed – he would have screamed if the explosion of power hadn't paralyzed his chest, his throat, his heart. Incredible expanding force of feedback from Spock overwhelmed him, doubled, quadrupled the intensity of his own frantic orgasm erupting in rampant fury, bodies slamming together violently.

He could no longer tell the difference between his own and Spock's frenzy. Concussion rocked his being, strained his heart, his lungs, his brain. Vulcan fire seared every nerve in his body, and Kirk more than half-wondered if spontaneous human combustion wasn’t perhaps feasible after all.

Semen ejected from his organ, all over Spock's firmly massaging hand; which, a moment later, was answered by Spock's own hot emission, thick warm fluid pumped into Kirk’s bowels, filling him up, so much of it, so much.

One last surge of passion… then diminishing, dissipating… the last few shudders wrenched from their aching strained bodies… Spock collapsed, utterly drained, on top of Kirk. Beneath him, Kirk lay half-senseless, heart pounding erratically, breath torn out of him. Sweat rolling off their bodies in rivulets dampened the bed-clothes beneath them.

Kirk could feel the warm viscosity of his own semen smeared between them, could feel Spock's thick seed filling him up inside.

Spock remained locked to Kirk, physically and mentally. Face buried against the side of Kirk’s neck, heavy breath blowing moist and warm on Kirk’s neck and shoulder, desperate heart-throbs against Kirk’s chest, mind numb, utter exhaustion flowing both ways through the mind-link.

Together they sank into a deep sleep. Blankness settled about them, enshrouded them, emptiness, void.

And dreams did not come for many hours.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Kirk didn’t arise immediately, Spock lay back down on top of him; kissed Kirk’s lips… gently at first, then more passionately, more desperately. Kirk returned the kisses with as much passion as he could muster; and then Spock was content to settle back down comfortably, face pressed to the side of Kirk’s neck, arm across his body.  
> Kirk couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than just enjoy lying there beneath the Vulcan’s weight and body heat.

_I step from the mouth of the cave onto the beach. I am alone. Light from the twin red suns casts a roseate glow on the sand, the rock cliffs, the barren dunes. Before me, the blood-red sea ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows, pale pink foam washing up onto the edge of the beach, crashing against the rocks. Faint odor of volcanic sulphur tingles my nostrils._

_High above, cut into the cliff, stands the retreat of the temple priests. I have never been here before. This sacred area is for the priests alone. I do not understand why I am here._

_Halfway across the beach stands an ancient stone altar which faces the red twins. I approach it, and kneel upon the kneeling stone. Glyphs cut into the granite altar catch my attention. At first I cannot decipher the ancient carving; and yet I recognize a subliminal familiarity. A haze seems to cloud my thinking._

_And then, gradually, the haze lifts, and with its dissolution comes clarity of apprehension. The glyphs spell out the First Axiom for disciples, the first rule of the Path: “The Eyes must be clear and all-seeing if they are to comprehend.” I am not certain that I have yet mastered even this primary requirement. I search my soul; it does not answer me._

_“Student,” a voice behind me speaks. “The Ears must be open and discerning if they are to hear.” It is High Priestess T’Lar, quoting the Second Axiom. I do not turn around. “Dost thou hear us, student?”_

_Still I do not turn to her, but remain kneeling at the altar, eyes averted down._

_“Hear us, student,” she commands. “Hear us and speak.”_

_My gaze remains on the ancient stones as I respond to her, replying with the Third Axiom, in the language of antiquity, “The Voice must be tuned to Absolute Truth if it is to speak with the Masters.”_

_“Hast thou accomplished thy mastery of these precepts?”_

_“I have not, Master T’Lar,” I answer._

_She recites the fourth tenet: “The Soul must disown illusion if it is to stand in the presence of the Masters.” Her essence floods over my senses._

_My eyes are closed, and still behind my eyelids I see the blood ocean swirling, seething, waves surging and receding. I feel its energy ebbing and flowing within my being, interpenetrating my own substance, as though I exist in the midst of it, a minute part of its entirety, and yet a partaker of its infinity._

_“Come, student,” T’Lar commands. “Arise and stand before us.”_

_“I do not feel worthy, Master,” I reply._

_The Master’s voice chides gently. “Dost the disciple challenge the judgment of the Master now? Has the disciple become a Master?”_

_I feel hot shame flush my face. “No, Master. I beg forgiveness for my thoughtless words.”_

_“Come to us, student,” T’Lar commands again. “Come and show thy face.”_

_Compliantly I arise from the altar and turn my back on the red ocean to face the High Priestess behind the altar._

_A firebird stands behind the altar, its crimson plumage aflame. I feel the heat waves wash over my bared arms and face. Reverently I drop to my knees before the figure, and once more avert my gaze down to the seared volcanic sand. The torrid energy penetrates me to the very core of my being._

_“Show thy face,” T’Lar commands once again._

_The heat recedes, a cool rainbow mist sparkles over me, refreshes my febrile senses. I raise my head and gaze into the prismatic eyes that soothe me. The flaming plumage has transmuted into green and blue and gold, cool and fresh, colors of healing._

_Now all about me the scorched red landscape has misted over in a cold moist fog wafting in from the now-grey sea. No longer seared red cliffs, but verdant walls bedecked with clinging mosses and ferns. Beyond the white beach, conifers grow among granite boulders. The light fog has thickened into a light drizzle from the slate sky._

_And now T’Lar stands before me in her gold-trimmed white vestment. She looks at me, and her gaze is a tangible force. I feel it surround me, I feel it penetrate me, a humming vibrating energy penetrating through my body like radiation._

_“We have waited for thee, student,” the ancient mystic announces. “Thy chamber has been prepared for thy coming. Thou shalt follow now.” She turns from the beach, toward the rock cliff into which have been hewn rough steps climbing all the way up to the retreat high above us._

_I follow, making my way up the narrow irregular granite stairs behind the Master. Drizzle flicks my face, my skin. I do not understand of what the Master speaks – the abode of the priests does not allow others within its walls. Yet I obey Master T’Lar._

_She climbs effortlessly. I feel the exertion of the climb. The drizzling rain slicks the granite steps, mists over my body. Droplets from thick lush wet vegetation drip onto me. I look upward at our destination._

_The stairway consists of seventy steps; the shrine above, a perfect cube colonnaded on each side by seven columns. Scintillating white marble, it stands brilliant against the grey sky. Just before the huge heavy golden entrance-doors, are two large marble pillars standing independent._

_I hesitate to pass between the pillars, and T’Lar’s hand thrust back against my chest interrupts me as well._

_“Student,” she pronounces once more, her aged voice strong with absolute authority, “thou knowest thou canst not pass between the pillars and enter the shrine unless thou dost grasp their significance. What is their meaning, disciple?”_

_I do not know – and yet I do… words flow through my mind, words I cannot comprehend though I sense they are familiar… why am I harried by confusion? why do I stumble? But I do know, I do know._

_The light rain sprinkles my face, dampens my robe. I smell the sweet wet air and once again the sublime fragrance of dhyara blossoms growing lushly about the shrine._

_T’Lar stands in the rain, watching me. The rain does not dampen her, but runs off her face and robe as if off a bird’s feathers._

_“Answer us, student,” she commands._

_I look at the twin columns. “The pillars represent the Creative Word and the Creative Law,” I announce, as once again Knowledge overcomes confusion. “The Word initiates and directs; the Law brings into being: the Word of Truth, and the Law of Absolute Logic and Mathematics. The Duality underlying Unity.”_

_Perhaps the Master smiles. “Thou doest adequately, student,” she acknowledges. “Enter.”_

_I follow her between the columns up to the portico before the shrine doors. There on a small table stands a silver chalice filled with marash’ti nectar. She picks it up with both hands and drinks from it, then offers it to me – as once before – but this time with another probing question:_

_“Student, what is the Absolute?”_

_“The Absolute…” I look down into the chalice held out to me, into the red-gold nectar, sun’s-blood. The spice vapors enter my nose and mouth, so sweet, so keen. I breathe in the scent, the marash’ti spice. “… the Absolute…” I seem to be losing my mental clarity as fog enshrouds me once again. I do not know how to answer.  
_ * * * * *

“… the Absolute…”

Kirk awoke, on the verge of a thought… there was something very important that he needed to know, that he was expected to know… but what?... what? And why?

The dream shimmered before him and faded.

He looked at the bedside digital timer: 06:40 hours. The alarm would sound in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to gather his thoughts and consider the miserable prospect of climbing out of a nice warm bed to face another day of work.

Spock lay sprawled on top of him. Kirk decided that the Vulcan body-weight felt good, pleasurable, if a little uncomfortable after all night of not being able to change position. And the powerful sensation of Spock's deep penetration still remained, although his fingers had slipped from Kirk’s face some time earlier, breaking the mind-link.

Kirk couldn’t remember ever having a sexual experience that came anywhere close to what they’d just accomplished with each other. Even yet he was not fully recovered, mentally or physically… in fact, when he arose in a few minutes, he just might initiate a visit to McCoy before the good doctor came to him this morning.

He thought Spock might be awake already. The Vulcan’s head lay comfortable on Kirk’s chest. The hair, sweat-tousled and smelling of spice, pressed against Kirk’s chin. Kirk kissed it, felt the fine silk texture against his lips, tasted the spice. Kirk’s arms embraced the tall slender body, skin slightly tacky with dried sweat. Beneath them, the damp bed-sheets clung unpleasantly to Kirk’s body.

Spock's lips pressed gently to Kirk’s breast, hand slid over his bare skin.

“Spock…” Kirk murmured, returning the light caresses.

“Mm…” Spock managed against Kirk’s pectoral swell.

Kirk’s hand stroked short straight grey-wisped black silk hair. “Spock, let me up.”

Another moan, and Kirk felt the Vulcan organ push an inch or two deeper into him while a corresponding tightening of muscles registered pleasure through the Vulcan’s body. Then obligingly, slowly, carefully, Spock withdrew his impalement. The motion stimulated Kirk desirously. Spock separated from him. Kirk knew he should get up, but he didn’t want to. He would just lie here a little while longer… just until the alarm went off.

When Kirk didn’t arise immediately, Spock lay back down on top of him; kissed Kirk’s lips… gently at first, then more passionately, more desperately. Kirk returned the kisses with as much passion as he could muster; and then Spock was content to settle back down comfortably, face pressed to the side of Kirk’s neck, arm across his body.

Kirk couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than just enjoy lying there beneath the Vulcan’s weight and body heat.

There had been another time years before when that alien body heat had probably saved their lives, that one frigid night, the two of them stranded on that Rigellian planet, Beta Hydra. Now Kirk could smile at the memory of him and Spock sharing a thermal blanket, locked together all night long in a life-saving embrace; at the time he’d been more than a little embarrassed at the prospect, until the chill creeping beneath his clothes had persuaded him to go along with the suggestion. Certainly he’d never realized then that one day many years later, he had Spock would again share a bed… but for a very different reason.

Or perhaps not so different a reason – for wasn’t this a life-saving situation as well?

The alarm interrupted old reminiscences; he shut it off, but made no move to get out of bed.

“Spock…” he whispered again.

Spock kissed the side of his neck, which nearly distracted Kirk from the question he wanted to ask.

“Spock, I’m having some very strange dreams these nights. Dreams about Vulcan, about a woman, an elderly priestess. But it’s so uncannily real that I wonder if I’m really dreaming. Or is it something else? You’re melded with me all night long, Spock – are you having similar dreams?”

“They are not dreams, Jim.” Spock discovered another spot of bare skin which needed to be kissed. “Our unified consciousness is undergoing purification and growth under the guidance of the Vulcan priests.”

“Then you’re saying we’re really on Vulcan, the two of us together?”

“In a manner of speaking, in a higher dimension of reality.”

“Do you know who the woman is? She asks questions that I can’t answer. Who is she, Spock, and what am I supposed to tell her?”

Another kiss maddeningly arousing, this one to the base his throat, before Spock announced, “She is Elder High Priestess T’Lar of the temple on Mount Kahleca. You do not know the answers to her questions, but our combined consciousness does. If your mind will relax and not resist, I shall be able to channel through us both. Do not resist when we are joined. Allow our combined consciousness to know the Truth. Our bodies have joined, now our minds must be allowed as well to become as one.”

Kirk’s hands stroked over warm Vulcan skin. “You’ve mind-melded with me many times in the past, but it’s never been like this – it’s never been so…” Words failed him.

“This is still very early,” Spock reminded. “By the seventh night, our minds will be so profoundly interpenetrated as to virtually be one mind. Allow that to happen. Our unification will reach greater depths of understanding than either of us could attain alone. I ask only that you do not resist.”

“I’m trying my best.”

“I know that.”

The digital timer announced 07:10. Kirk groaned resentment at the unwelcome reminder.

Spock slid off his lover. “ And now I believe it is time to get out of bed. You have a command post awaiting your attention, Admiral.”

Kirk was not interested in getting out of bed. Instead, he commented, “Well, what if the Admiral has no attention to give to command today, except to command his first-officer to come back down here and smother his superior with kisses?”

“I would say that the first-officer has a duty to obey every given order of his superior.”

“Then consider the order given, Captain.”

“Order received and acknowledged, Admiral.” And once more Spock lowered his weight on top of the man beneath him; found Kirk’s mouth with his own searching lips.

“Good,” Kirk responded between kisses. “You…” – a kiss to the corner of an erotic mouth – “… obey orders…” – a flick of the tongue to alien lips – “… very well, Mister Spock.”

“Thank you, Admiral.” That erotic mouth explored his face, those alien lips caressed his skin like silk.

Kirk’s arms embraced Spock's naked body to his own tightly, very tightly. He would never have believed anything could feel this good, this comfortable, this… right… dear god, he meant that, didn’t he? he really meant that… Out of what hidden corner had that realization crept? and how had it managed to sneak up on him without warning?’

Well, regardless of its origin, he wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t exist. Too much time had passed since he’d been involved in a truly satisfying love affair. And even though this would last only a week, he chose to enjoy as much of it as there was.

“Admiral,” his first-officer interrupted sweet kisses, “the time is now oh-seven-thirteen, and it is my duty as first-officer to remind you of your duty.”

Kirk moaned. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Spock?”

“No, Admiral,” Spock assured. “I am merely considering that you might find it inopportune should your crew come here seeking your whereabouts.”

Kirk had to agree. “You’re right… as always. That would be… inopportune.”

“Indeed, Admiral.”

Dragging himself out of bed, Kirk lumbered into the bathroom to get his clothes. Spock was right – he had no choice. Duty came first.

Then with a final kiss, he promised, “I’ll be back for lunch.”

“Very well, Jim,” Spock acknowledged. “I shall be here.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Spock's time of Pon Farr, and with the ship in quarantine, and no Vulcan females around, there’s only one person Spock can turn to for assistance…
> 
> Spock realized – all too well – that a great upheaval had been charged into motion. His relationship to his commanding officer would never be the same, their lives would never be the same. The power and energy that expanded from Vulcan sexuality, as rare as it was, could easily overpower. Spock had known, that once involved, Jim Kirk’s humanness would have no choice but to fall obsessively in love. And Spock had not warned him in advance.  
> ... – why? – ...

When Kirk got back to his own quarters, next door to Spock's, he put in a call for Doctor McCoy, then took a shower. By the time he got out of the bath, McCoy was already waiting inside the cabin.

“Well, this is a switch,” the medic noted with interest, “you calling me. Don’t tell me you actually want an exam this morning.”

Kirk smiled a little smile. “As a matter of fact, Doctor, I do. Spock and I got a little carried away last night, and I’d just like to make sure we didn’t do any permanent damage… And in addition, I’d appreciate your professional opinion on a… subject that’s causing me… a little concern… if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” McCoy reassured, indicating Kirk to lie down on the bed, and pulling out his scanner. “What can I help you with, Jim?”

Kirk lay down for the physician to examine him. “Do you remember, Bones, when we were first discussing my participation in this ritual with Spock, you voiced concern over possible deleterious effects?”

McCoy was seated on the bed beside Kirk’s reclining body, running his scanner over the motionless form. “Of course.”

“Well, you were right,” Kirk admitted. “I have a deleterious effect to report.” He watched his friend study the scanner readings. “Bones, I’m in love with my first-officer.”

Something in McCoy’s face tightened into seriousness. But the doctor didn’t look up from his work. Carefully he chose his words. “There’s nothing wrong with that – I love Spock too. We talked about that yesterday.”

“And you’re deliberately misunderstanding, Doctor,” the younger man chided in a friendly manner. “ I said I’m _in_ love with Spock.”

McCoy just frowned without interrupting, as Kirk continued.

“… I just began realizing that I’m strongly attracted to him… sex with him is practically indescribable… incomparable to anything else. I’m afraid that a human female could no longer ever satisfy me. Problem is, it’s impossible. Seven days from now, he won’t have any more sexual feelings for another seven years, and when he does, he’ll return to Vulcan to deal with them in the proper Vulcan manner. And that leaves me with nothing… and I guess I’m feeling sorry for myself. Would you consider that a deleterious effect, Doctor?”

McCoy was watching his patient quietly, seriously. “Only if you continue to fixate on it, and let it take over from your better judgment.” Then he shook his head. “Jim,” he admitted, “I can’t exactly say I’m surprised. Just yesterday I was wondering if… all this… might cause you two to fall in love… But really, I think there’s another explanation as well, another down-to-earth interpretation of the feelings you’re experiencing right now. And I wouldn’t necessarily consider it a deleterious effect. I’d consider it sensory overload. You’ve been under stress for over a month now – we’ve all got cabin fever – and it’s taking its toll on all of us. Now suddenly you’re thrust into a new, exciting, stimulating situation with someone you care about very much – your brain craves the new stimulation as it would a drug, your body is able to release its build-up of stress in a new exotic way – and your emotions interpret it as love – or at least, lust. But it isn’t really love – not like your true feeling of deep friendship, kinship, with Spock. My medical advice is to enjoy this week while it lasts, then relegate it to that part of the mind reserved for fond memories, and get on with your life. And with what you’ve learned from this experience, you’ll be able to bring a greater richness to a normal relationship with the right woman someday. And I’m sure Spock will come out of this with greater insights for himself as well. And that,” – he laid down his scanner and smiled at Kirk – “is your one free psychiatric consultation for the day. Now,” – the medic got down to medical business – “roll over, and I’ll pack you again with some anaesthetic so at least you’ll be able to sit down today… Damn, he really does get in there deep, doesn’t he?”

Kirk rolled over obligingly this time. “Is that your professional medical opinion of my diagnosis, Doctor?’ he queried.

The physician kept a straight face. “That’s what I’m writing in your chart, Admiral.”

A suspicious glare shot from the corner of Kirk’s eyes. “I suppose Doctor Chapel will get a kick out of that too.”

“I expect she will.” McCoy packed him firmly, ignoring Kirk’s silent winces of pain. Finally he released his patient; started putting supplies away. “There, I’m done.”

Stiffly sitting up on the bed, Kirk reached for his clothes folded on the bedside chair. “So, Doctor, am I alive and well and fit for duty today?”

“You are alive and well, and fit for duty, Admiral.”

“Well, thank you very much, Bones. And thank you for the free counselling,” Kirk acknowledged, “although simply analyzing feelings doesn’t make them go away.”

“No,” McCoy agreed,” but maybe it’ll make them easier to live with afterwards. Now, go on – get onto the bridge. Your crew is waiting for you.”

“Yes sir, Commander.”

McCoy arose from the bed and was half-way out the door, when he turned to interrupt Kirk’s dressing. “Oh, by the way, Jim, I’d like to examine Spock too. Not that I know exactly what I’m looking for – as I’m not well-acquainted with normal Vulcan condition during Pon Farr – but I’d feel better if I could just take a look at him. If it’s appropriate, would you ask him if I could see him for just a few minutes later today?”

“Of course, Bones. I’ll ask him.”  
* * * * *

Stinging tendrils of emotion crept through his breast, tickled as they probed and intertwined.

Spock had felt – almost more than heard – Kirk’s declaration of love to the doctor. The confidential knowledge stabbed anxiety in his vitals. At times like these, he sometimes wanted to curse his too-acute sense of hearing.

But really it hadn't taken the physical sense of hearing to know that Kirk was falling in love with him – he had felt it through the sleep-meld the night before, and even more obvious than that, during their evening’s love-making.

Spock also realized – all too well – that a great upheaval had been charged into motion because of this performance in which the two of them were presently engaged. His relationship to his commanding officer would never be the same, their lives would never be the same. The power and energy that expanded from Vulcan sexuality, as rare as it was, could easily overpower another mentality of lesser discipline and training; and the lesser mentality would quickly come to crave the absolute intimacy like an addict for a drug. Spock had known, that once involved, Jim Kirk’s humanness would have no choice but to fall obsessively in love with the giver of such super-human pleasure. And Spock had not warned him in advance.

– _why_? –

He had perceived the possibility of a problem when quarantine was first locked on the ship four weeks before, knowing that his time was growing closer, and knowing very clearly that his only solution lay in the admiral’s assistance. Had he been afraid that the admiral would refuse if given time to consider the unseemly proposal? Dutifully Spock had covered all other possibilities: contacting the Vulcan secretary at Starfleet’s Surgeon-General’s office, requesting T’Lar’s assistance from Vulcan, and hoping each day that the quarantine would be lifted.

But the quarantine did not lift, and the Vulcan secretary, in most proper and respectful language, replied that it was not known to him if any other Vulcans in similar circumstances had ever faced the same exigency of being forcibly kept away from the home planet at the time of Pon Farr. And T’Lar responded to his request with a plain simple question of her own: _Dost thou choose to join with thy Admiral Kirk only because thou knowest that he shall willingly assist thee to prevent thy death, or dost thou choose to join with him because thou dost wish life-bonding with him?_

Spock had been nearly too ashamed to answer, and T’Lar had known his answer anyway, without his words. He did love Jim Kirk, loved him dearly, wanted him, would never have admitted that to himself – let alone to the admiral – but T’Lar had read it clearly and drawn it out before his own eyes and forced him to look at it. To life-bond with another male meant that both males would spill their seed and cease their lineage. And no Vulcan male had the right to demand that of another, and particularly not in the name of respect and love – such a perversion of respect and love.

And yet, respect and love were what Spock felt for his friend, and it wasn’t a perversion, not in this case: a bonding deeper much more than mere friendship, deeper than sibling blood. It had been Spock's fate to meet and share a ship’s command with a certain Earth human, and to discover a soul-mate beneath the uniform and rank insignia and command protocol. And now with awakened sexual desires, his deepest craving was to expand that relationship into absolute life-bonding. Not since that all-to-brief sparkle of joining with his beautiful flower T’Chal, had he felt such profound depth of conjoining with another living being… why did that living being have to be a male? Why, whatever gods there be, why was this his fate?

T’Lar had probed, cutting him open with logic, but not condemnation: _and does thy commander choose this also? will he choose to life-mate with a Vulcan male?_

T’Lar’s probing may as well have ripped his heart out of his chest for sober examination. Spock's own discipline had slipped back several paces beneath the Master’s inquisition.

… _I do not know_ … was all he could answer. And yet he had sensed that Jim did want it – at least, could want it. Knowing the human for nearly thirty years now, linking with him psychically on occasion, it was more than just hope that Kirk would go along with this. That somewhere deep inside the Earthman, unspoken as surely as Spock's own, was the desire to more-completely express their inseverable bond. That if that expression came to pass, it would not be against either of their wills. That surely Spock would sooner sacrifice his life than use his powerful mentality to take advantage of the human and mesmerize him into desiring a consummation which otherwise he would refuse in disgust.

… _then doest what thou will, Spock of Vulcan, if thy motives are pure. Join to create a unity greater than the sum of its parts_ …

Master T’Lar had spoken. And consummation had occurred.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They kissed, a long lingering kiss that tingled tiny electrical shocks through Kirk’s solar plexus. He opened his mouth just a little, inviting Spock's tongue. But Spock didn’t take him up on it this time. Instead, he moved his attention to Kirk’s neck, kissed it, nipped at the tender skin beneath the high silk collar. Kirk managed a half-kiss to Spock's jaw-line, ran his tongue along the bony edge…

At 12:00 hours, Kirk arrived at Spock's quarters. Lunch-tray in hand, he punched the door buzzer.

“Come,” Spock's voice invited, and the front plexi-glass wall slid half-way open to allow Kirk entrance.

Spock was sitting on the edge of the bed. During the day he wore a robe of coarse linen gir­ded with a twisted sash. His own lunch-tray sat untouched on the bedside table.

“Hello, Spock,” Kirk greeted, carrying his tray over to the bed to sit beside his friend. “How are you holding up?”

A tentative nod of head. “Well… thank you, Jim.”

Kirk heard a slight tremor beneath the show of assurance, which concerned him, but he re­plied in the same assuring tone, “Good. Now why don’t you join me in some lunch? C’mon.” He started in on his salad and stew.

Spock did not pick his up.

“C’mon,” Kirk urged again, taking another forkful of salad. “I had the processors send up your favorite.”

Finally Spock obliged, but far from enthusiastically.

“Talk to me, Spock,” Kirk coaxed. “Something’s wrong. What?”

Silent concern danced over the Vulcan’s face before he responded. “Pressure is building with­in me. I can feel it. It is very difficult to remain alone during this time. I thought I could with­stand it; I cannot. During Pon Farr, the ritual partners are intended to remain together for the entire seven days. There should be no separation until completion.”

“I understand, Spock; however, you know that I still have a ship to run – I cannot relinquish that entirely. If I could, I would stay here with you.”

Spock nodded, eyes straight ahead. “I realize that, Jim. I do not expect the Pon Farr to be accomplished to its fullest extent this time.”

“Spock, I will come to you as soon as possible. If I can get away before the end of shift, I will.”

“Thank you, Admiral.”

Most of Spock's meal was untouched. Finally Kirk pushed his own aside but half-eaten. He could feel his friend’s mental distress. “Spock,” he said, “this is difficult for both of us.”

“And I know that as well.” Now Spock's gaze shifted to his friend beside him. “Jim,” he announced, “I must confess, I overheard you and Doctor McCoy this morning.”

Kirk responded with slight surprise, then blushed. He’d forgotten his Vulcan officer’s highly-sensitive nearly-telepathic sense of hearing. And their quarters did share a bulkhead. Carefully he drew a breath, nodded slowly once, and wished his face wasn’t quite so hot. “All right,” he admitted. “I… didn’t exactly mean for you to hear that. Please excuse my… lack of emotional discipline.”

Concern registered in dark Vulcan eyes. “Jim. I have never meant to cause you distress… and I do not meant to cause you shame now. I am not unmindful of the feelings between us, and I do not disrespect any emotion of yours. Please believe me.”

“I do, Spock,” Kirk allowed gently, face still pink-tinged. “All right. It’s true, what I told McCoy. I certainly never expected to make a confession like that to you, but… there it is. It’s just something I’ll have to work out myself. Please… forgive me.” He smiled a forced smile.

Spock was not smiling, but frowning with slight concern. “Jim, I see nothing inappropriate regarding deep feelings between us. My feelings for you are what they have always been – they have not changed, nor will they change after this week. You merely have never seen them expressed be­fore at this level. What you are perceiving through our mind-melds is an accurate representation of my emotions in regard to our relationship. Do you find them distasteful?”

“No, Spock, of course I don’t. I respect them, and you.”

“And I respect yours – and you.”

Some of the stiffness in Kirk’s smile relaxed, and he smiled a little more naturally now; a characteristic shrug lifted his shoulders. “I realize,” he admitted, “that we’re not supposed to… fall in love this week… but that’s what’s happening to me… Now, I could deny it, or call it sensory overload like McCoy does, but that doesn’t make it go away.”

“Admiral,” Spock urged sympathetically, “if you wish me to, when this week is completed, I can lessen these events in your mind… If the memories of our present activities will later cause you distress, I can take them from you.”

“No,” Kirk refused with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to forget. Unless I discover later that it impairs our working relationship – or our friendship – I want to remember… I just hope I haven’t embarrassed you with this whole revelation.”

“You have not. Your feelings are very much attuned to my own.” Spock's head nodded once slightly in acquiescence to his friend. “And you may also inform Doctor McCoy that he may come and examine me this afternoon, if he still wishes.”

“I’ll tell him.” Once again Kirk smiled at his second-in-command. “And all right, Spock, I’ll stay with you for the rest of this week. Just let me get back to the bridge and finish up some work and turn over command to Scotty, then I’ll be back within the hour.”

Again Spock nodded.  
* * * * *

But more than an hour passed before Kirk was able to discreetly absent himself from the bridge. Between Scotty’s insistence to explain in detail his progress with the engines – which at any other time Kirk would have been seriously interested to hear – and a last-minute communiqué from Rear Admiral Albrecht requesting Kirk’s own progress report on the overall situation – a request not intended to be deferred – two hours managed to drag by in anxious delay. Finally Kirk called Scotty back and informed him with as little detail as possible that both Kirk and Spock would be indisposed for the rest of the week, so command fell to the Chief Engineer. The Scotsman accepted it dutifully, if a little unhappily, as he would rather have continued supervising the engine repair. Kirk acknowledged his desire sympathetically and agreed to allow him two hours a day when he could shift command to Sulu and oversee his engineers’ activities. Scott considered those orders more than fair. Only under dire circumstances should Kirk be disturbed, and then the request should be routed through Doctor McCoy. Scott accepted the unusual protocol, knowing better than to question, fully confident that his commanding officer had good reasons, whatever they might be.

… _if you only knew, Scotty_ … Kirk thought to himself with a tiny ironic smile… _if you only knew_ …

Because he was running late, he decided to go to Spock's quarters immediately, and shower there… _please, God, I’ll do anything you ask, just don’t call an alert for the next five days_ … _please_ …

Kirk buzzed the cabin door. “Spock, it’s me.”

“Come in,” Spock answered.

The wall slid open and Kirk entered, then pulled up short when he saw McCoy still there sitting on the edge of the bed in the midst of his exam. “Oh, excuse me,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize you’d still be here… I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Spock interrupted. “It is all right, Jim. Please remain.” He was lying on the bed face-up and unclothed, as McCoy ran the scanner over his body.

McCoy looked up from his work as Kirk approached the bed. “I’ll be done in a minute, Jim,” the medic promised, “then I’ll get out of your way.”

“That’s okay, Bones, take your time – I don’t mean to rush you.” And removing his uniform jacket, Kirk laid it on Spock's dressing table, then unfastened the collar and cuffs of his blouse. “So, Doctor,” he inquired, “how is it coming? Is Spock healthy?”

McCoy was frowning at the tricorder’s read-out, as he admitted, “Well, I’m just having to take Spock's word for it that he is. None of my readings mean anything to me, as I have no basis for comparison. Hormones elevated – well, that’s to be expected – temperature increased, blood gases way off the scale. Blood copper is extremely high, while iron is dropped below range…”

With a grin, Kirk swept all the unintelligible technical jargon aside. “Yes, I’m sure that’s all fascinating, Doctor. So, what’s the bottom line?”

The physician shrugged. “The bottom line is that he’s healthy, despite the fact that all his body functions are behaving completely abnormally.”

Sitting up on the bed, Spock insisted, “They are not behaving abnormally for this physiological state, Doctor.” He slipped on his coarse linen robe and tied it at the waist.

“Spock,” McCoy asked a little hesitantly as he replaced the tricorder in its case, “would it be all right with you if I recorded my observations and did a little comparative research for my own private studies? Of course, it’ll be kept totally confidential.”

“Yes, Doctor, that is permissible.”

“Thank you, Spock. Well,” – McCoy’s gaze glanced at his two friends, both looking at him, and a sudden expression of slight uneasiness passed over his face – “I, uh, guess I’m through here, so I’ll, uh, leave you two…” He rose from the bed and headed for the door.

Resting a gentle hand on McCoy’s shoulder, Kirk strolled the few steps with the doctor through the ante-room to the door. “Bones,” he assured, “everything is under control. Don’t worry. I think Spock and I can take care of ourselves. We’ll be all right.”

McCoy shifted a quick look back at the Vulcan. “Well, if either of you need anything…”

“We shall contact you, Doctor,” Spock promised.

Kirk gave a little reassuring wink as the medic stepped through the doorway. “Listen, Bones, I’ll touch base with you each morning, if that will make you feel better, all right? – let you know we’re both still alive and well.”

“Sure, Jim, that’ll be fine.”

The door slid shut between them.

Spock strolled up behind Kirk. “The doctor is concerned.”

“Of course he is, Spock. He cares about us and he doesn’t understand what we’re doing. And you know he doesn’t like being kept in the dark about something he doesn’t understand.”

“He is a very perceptive individual.”

“Yes, he is.”

Kirk felt Spock's hands rest on his shoulders; he turned to face his first-officer, his lover. He smiled at the tall slender man watching him with dark solemn eyes that saw all the way into his soul. Spock's hands stroked his shoulders, squeezed, head tipped slightly to the side, as dark gaze lingered on his lips. Kirk’s eyes half-closed as Vulcan lips met his own. They kissed, a long lingering kiss that tingled tiny electrical shocks through his solar plexus down to his genitals. Kirk opened his mouth just a little, inviting Spock's tongue. But Spock didn’t take him up on it this time. Instead, he moved his attention to Kirk’s neck, kissed it, nipped at the tender skin beneath the high silk collar. Kirk managed a half-kiss to Spock's jaw-line, ran his tongue along the bony edge.

“Spock,” Kirk whispered.

“Mm.” Spock found another spot on Kirk’s neck to kiss.

“Spock, let me take a shower – I didn’t get a chance to clean up after I left the bridge.”

“Mm hm.” Without raising his head from his interest in Kirk’s neck, Spock fingered the front of Kirk’s white silk blouse, found the buttons and unfastened them all the way down, then pulled the shirttail out of the waistband of black uniform trousers so that the blouse hung loose and open. Then warm hands slipped in beneath the feather-light material to take the sides of Kirk’s chest, while strong teeth found another sensitive spot on Kirk’s neck to nibble. Kirk kissed a lined weathered cheek again, breathed in erotic spice-scent of black silk hair.

Finally Spock straightened, and let Kirk go free. “Very well,” he allowed. “Please do not take long.”

Kirk grinned, shrugging out of the blouse, then sitting down to tug off his boots. “Don’t worry, I won’t. But if I do, you know where to find me.”

Clothes got tossed on top of the jacket on the dressing table, then Kirk went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

The fine hot needle-spray felt very good, reddening his skin, stinging lightly, sensuously. Just like Spock’s kisses.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank god, Kirk thought, for a first-officer rated as the highly meritorious in all of Starfleet. Kirk might be captain of the ship in title and authority, but he realized full well that that Vulcan first-officer of his shouldered a good fifty-percent of the captaincy’s burdens.   
> Kirk was soaping up again under the needle spray when he saw his meritorious Vulcan first-officer standing naked right outside the shower stall.  
> “I did not expect you to take so long in here, Jim,” the Vulcan commented over the shower’s hiss, stepping into the compartment alongside Kirk’s wet body. “Therefore, I have decided to join you.”

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had five days off at a stretch. Well, this promised to be one vacation he’d never forget. Thank god for Scotty, ready to step into command at a moment’s notice without any probing questions why; and his command ability was above censure – Kirk never had the slightest doubts leaving the ship in the Scotsman’s capable hands. If it weren’t for Scotty’s own insistence to remain the Enterprise’s Chief Engineer (and Mechanical Genius), Kirk would have seen to it that he receive his own command years ago. Kirk felt very blessed to have been granted twenty-eight years with such a crew – all of them of comparably exceptional caliber – thank god for them all… And thank god for a first-officer rated as the highly meritorious in all of Starfleet. Kirk might be captain of the ship in title and authority, but he realized full well that that Vulcan first-officer of his shouldered a good fifty-percent of the captaincy’s burdens, and had done so consummately for nearly three decades.

Kirk was soaping up again under the needle spray when he saw his meritorious Vulcan first-officer standing naked right outside the shower stall.

“I did not expect you to take so long in here, Jim,” the Vulcan commented over the shower’s hiss, stepping into the compartment alongside Kirk’s wet body. “Therefore, I have decided to join you.”

“By all means,” Kirk invited, moving over a few inches to make room for another wet body.

The shower spattered over them both, as they embraced once more and picked up the kiss where they had left off. Spock's hands took Kirk’s wet soapy body, sliding over slick skin, up and down flanks, rib-cage. Kirk’s arms embraced slender muscular shoulders. His lips parted slightly as they kissed, and this time Spock did accept the offer to push his tongue deep into a warm wet mouth. Eagerly Kirk sucked it, intruding his own tongue into Spock's mouth, to prod and probe, explore firm hard teeth, enjoy such taboo intimacies that never before had he ever considered imaginable.

Then Spock broke the kiss, moved behind Kirk to pay more attention to Kirk’s nape once again. Kirk smiled to himself, feeling wet lips examine his neck – evidently that was one of the Vulcan’s fondest pastimes… and Kirk had to admit that it was fast becoming one of his, too. Spock was kissing and kissing, neck, shoulders, hair, found an ear to lick and nibble. Kirk would accept any excuse to just stand there and take time to luxuriate in the touch of a friend’s hands on his body, as the long slender strong fingers rubbed his wet buttocks, hips, thighs, fondled his genitals briefly, slid up his ribs to his pectorals, momentarily wisping over erect nipples, gripped his upper arms, then massaged his neck and shoulders pleasurably. Kirk’s head tilted back under the shower spray, rested back on Spock's shoulder while the water streamed over their faces. Fingers clutched a fistful of hair, pulled Kirk’s head back harder, then Spock kissed his face, cheekbone, the outer corner of his eye, moved to the side of his head to explore wet curly light-brown hair, kiss it, nip at it and tug with lips and teeth, then kiss again. Kirk allowed the strong grip forcing his head back against the other man’s shoulder, while Spock caressed his hair with searching loving lips, nuzzling, tasting.

Then finally when Spock released him, Kirk turned to him, embraced the man he felt such warm feelings for now. Water tingled over both of them and it felt so good, it felt so very good.

Kirk pulled back a few inches, gaze traveled slowly down the tall thin body before him, then he picked up the soap and began soaping Spock all over. Spock stood there, letting Kirk wash him. Kirk’s hands rubbed the soap-slicked skin, slid over the front of his shoulders, palms pressed to his breasts, moved all over his body, then washed one arm, then the other. He stroked Spock's arm, rinsing it clean, took Spock's hand and raised it to his lips. Desirously he kissed the wet skin, then gently nipped the knuckles, glancing up into Spock’s face as he did so. Spock was watching him with those deep dark eyes. And then Kirk saw something else to bite: a firm roseate nipple, glistening wet, just waiting to be tasted and teased erect. He bent his head for it, took it between his teeth, sucked it, flicked the tip of a quivering tongue over it.

A tiny cry escaped Spock's lips, eyes glazed slightly, as he sagged back against the wall in pleasure-shock. Kirk grinned to himself, a satisfied little chuckle in his throat, and he nibbled some more at the captive little bump. Another cry, one of weak helplessness. Kirk kissed the tit, then sucked it hard, all the while Spock moaned and squirmed and gripped Kirk’s head tightly to himself with both hands. And Kirk would not release his little bite. Tormenting his first-officer like this pleased Kirk no end. He wondered if all Vulcans had such sensitive nipples or whether that was something peculiar to this particular one. Well, whichever, that was one Vulcan medical subject which Bones unfortunately would never have the opportunity to research; nor would he ever learn from Kirk’s sealed lips – no matter how many times he asked – what it was really like to have sex with a Vulcan.

He tasted the water cascading over Spock's breast; it ran into his open mouth, spattered into his eyes, tried to get into his ears and nose.

Finally he moved away from the hard swollen nipple – although he would return again soon! – and let his parted lips slide down warm skin as he sank to his knees into the inch of hot swirling water on the stall floor. Once again he picked up the soap to continue his lavage of Spock’s body, legs, hips, genitals. Massaging hands gripped and worked firm buttocks, tight hard muscles beneath soap-slick skin. When the needle spray had rinsed all the soap away, Kirk found himself kissing the clean wet skin of Spock's right hip, then his lips found the indentation of the right side of Spock's groin and pressed there for long uninterrupted moments. He felt hands on his drenched hair, holding his head right to the spot, felt Spock's long erect organ against his cheek, felt it move against his skin, felt it prod. With his tongue he traced the inguinal line, eliciting more cries from Spock and a sudden jerk of the penis touching his face.

He considered taking it into his mouth, but hesitated. That was something he’d never considered before, and even now with his new-found passion and all the broken prohibitions of these past three days, he wasn’t sure he should – ore even could.

And then Spock was kneeling on the floor too, and the dilemma was past.

He kissed Kirk once before maneuvering the human onto hands and knees facing the back of the stall away from Spock. Kirk expected Spock to mount him… and ride him all the way home. The mutual massage had already worked him close to climax, and Spock's was no doubt nearby as well.

And then with Spock gripping one arm around Kirk’s waist, Kirk awaited penetration and conjoined orgasms. The shower continued to stream over them, water eddied about Kirk’s hands and knees. He felt the wet Vulcan behind him. But Spock's organ did not enter.

A long soapy finger did… with nearly the same effect. Sensation flared through his loins – Kirk’s body jerked, and he moaned despite himself. The finger rubbed him, lubricated him inside. Electricity zapped him, tingled in his crotch. His breath gasped in shallow pants as the motion rocked his body. Spock's finger stimulated the tender nerves of his anus and rectum.

“Spock…” he gasped, half in shock, “take me now… please take me now… I don’t want to hold out any longer… please, Spock…”

Spock bent over Kirk’s back, lips close to Kirk’s ear. “I do not intend to take you this time, Jim. This is for you alone. Don’t try to hold out, just let it come.” And then Spock's free hand slipped down to take Kirk’s swollen squirming organ and work it to pleasure.

It came. Kirk just knelt there, hunched over, trembling, thrusting synchronously with Spock's manipulation – how Spock had gotten to be so proficient for only having had sex a few times in his life – and then never before with a human male – Kirk would never know, but the Vulcan’s touch was exquisite. The shock wave hit him with near-concussive force, roiled over him, through him, around him. He let it carry him, let it tingle through every nerve; then gradually it passed on, leaving him exhausted, head hanging, panting for breath, while the shower continued to spray over their naked bodies.

Then after awhile, Spock's hands gently took him under the arms and assisted him to his feet. Momentarily Kirk staggered before regaining stability; then smiling a little blankly at his good friend, managed to gasp, “Thank you, Spock… for everything.”

“That is quite all right, Jim,” Spock acknowledged, and finally turned off the water. “Now I suggest we both get out of the shower before we drain the storage tanks dry.”

“Good idea,” Kirk agreed, still trying to catch his breath. He stepped out of the stall behind Spock, took the thick towel which Spock handed to him, and dried off his face, his body, his hair.

Spock toweled off too, then slipped on his skirt and fastened it, and laid out Kirk’s.

The two walked out to the bedchamber. Kirk collapsed back on the bed, while Spock re-lit the censers. Then sitting in a corner with his Vulcan lyre, Spock began crooning softly some alien melody, very haunting, very unfamiliar, very beautiful.

The orgasm had really drained Kirk – it always did. He would just lie there for awhile, not fall asleep, but just close his eyes and listen to the strange beautiful music, breathe spice vapors, and bask in the aura of post-coital warmth and sensation.

He thought of Spock, the man who supported him, the foundation beneath his captaincy, a sanctuary in times of confusion, a help-mate, a confidante. Spock alone was a virtual army of strength, intellect, endurance, and sanity; and all of it absolutely willingly subordinated to his commanding officer’s every desire. Kirk could not – and did not want to – imagine the past twenty-eight years without the Vulcan officer. An extension of Kirk’s own body and mind, forever at Kirk’s immediate summons, and yet a totality unto himself. He and Kirk united as two wholes that combined to create an ever greater Completeness… although Kirk realized fully that if anything ever irrevocably snatched the Vulcan from his side, his own wholeness would be less than complete from that moment on.

Multiple feelings tugged at him now, each one clamoring for priority, and he felt anxiousness in every cell of his body. For all their intimacy up until three days ago, and for all Kirk’s liberality on the subject of bonding – sexual or otherwise – he had not been prepared for this mind-staggering experience. Memories of his troubled thoughts from three nights before flooded his brain in crystal illumination, the confusion that had flitted through his mind as he had lain alone in his cabin that night, after Spock had propositioned him and left: feelings of loyalty crowded by feelings of dis-ease, feeling of brother-love, feelings of empathy. But feelings of physical love for that man, Kirk had never expected. If he were completely honest with himself, he might have admitted that seeds of a desire to physically express their close relationship had existed nascently in his subconscious for some time, but never had there been any conscious thought of fulfillment. Until now. And now he had to admit that he desired nothing less than bed-pleasure with that Vulcan friend of his every night from now on for the rest of their lives. Maybe even after twenty-eight years, Spock and he still had new lessons to learn together.

And the dreams… the dreams. A number of times throughout their friendship Spock had mind-melded with him, times when the situation was serious enough to warrant it. Mind-linking was not something entered into lightly, and Kirk didn’t always anticipate it eagerly. Depending upon the circumstances demanding its use, the experience could be euphoric, but often as not it could be anxious and disturbing, with the sensation of another mind working its way inside his head, as though Spock’s probing fingers on his temples could effortlessly penetrate his skull and probe right into the soft flesh of his brain. Thankfully for most emergencies throughout the years that had required unspoken communication, their mutual sixth-sense – like that of any close-bonded partners – usually sufficed.

But never before had they melded at such a deep unconscious level and remained linked in sleep over the period of many hours. Kirk still wasn’t certain how to consider their nightly episodic dreams unscrolling in such praeternatural clarity. The uncanny mystical half-reality certainly didn’t originate from Kirk’s mind, nor was he altogether sure that Spock was creating it. In fact, he was more that fifty-percent convinced that some very conscious force back on Vulcan was fully aware of the present predicament of one of its offspring, and was effortlessly leaping galactic distances to come and assist.

Now, unbidden, before Kirk’s eyes, arose a hauntingly real image of the ancient Vulcan priestess T’Lar standing before the doors of the shrine once again, presenting the silver chalice, prismatic eyes looking at him – or were they watching something beyond him? – the tingling scent of spice… and again the question:

… _Student, what is the Absolute?_...

Kirk jerked awake.

The room light was dimmed – what time was it? – he could hear the faint temple music again emanating from hidden speakers as though the tinkling bells and the harp and the twittering birds were a part of the air itself; he could smell the spice incense very strong now. Spock was seated beside him on the bed… no, Spock wasn’t on the bed, he was kneeling before the altar, lost in deep meditation – in the dim grey twilight Kirk could hardly make him out – and he was chanting very quietly to himself. Kirk started to sit up.

And couldn’t.

A jolt of adrenalin shot through his body. Was he still asleep? His body lay on the bed, inert, as though still caught in sleep paralysis, although Kirk felt perfectly sure that his brain was awake and functioning. He could see the cabin interior quite clearly, see himself on the bed, see Spock, see the candlelight from the censers on the altar. But he could not move.

And then another burst of adrenalin, as another realization struck him most surely sub-mentally:

Someone else was in the room with them.

Kirk couldn’t see anyone else, and yet just as certainly as one can sometimes sense another person standing behind oneself, that surely did Kirk know that some presence stood near the altar… and Spock. And Kirk had never considered himself psychic in the least, but he absolutely knew right now that something was there with them, just beyond the reach of his visual ability. Was it Vulcan? Was it perhaps T’Lar herself? What was going on here? He wasn’t dreaming – he was sure of that.

He wondered if Spock was aware of the presence… but of course, the Vulcan must have been. If Kirk had sensed it with no psychic ability on his part, then surely it must have had registered on the sensitive Vulcan intuition.

And now he smelled another scent, beyond the sweetness of spice: he smelled warm moist slightly-coppery slightly-salty smell, and recognized it from a few other times in his life. Vulcan blood… Spock's? Kirk’s gaze jumped back to his first-officer kneeling at the altar, his back to Kirk.

Spock was wearing the coarse linen robe girded at the waist, but now Kirk could see, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, that the top half of the robe was off Spock's body, leaving him stripped to the waist. And then Kirk saw on Spock's naked back a flurry of long bloody cuts, still freshly bleeding, as though Spock had just taken a hard scourging.

A horror sickness clenched Kirk’s belly. “Spock!” he tried to cry out, but the sound was only inside his head, and his body remained paralyzed on the bed by the invisible force permeating the room.

Nevertheless Spock seemed to rouse, and turned toward Kirk… and then another shock assailed Kirk’s sight.

Before Spock, on the altar, sat the silver chalice of sun’s-blood. In his right hand Spock gripped a ceremonial dagger which Kirk had often admired hanging on the wall over Spock's bed. But now the Vulcan held it purposefully, and Kirk could see dark green blood on its edge. Candlelight flickered off the sheened metal, highlighted Spock's face interrupted from its concentration. And in the candlelight Kirk saw Spock's left arm above the chalice. His wrist had been slashed and he held it over the goblet for his blood to dribble into the fiery marash’ti nectar.

Kirk screamed again silently. “Spock!”

But now Spock turned away from him, back to the altar. Kirk watched helplessly. The uncanny phantasmic surrealism countered every sensible grounded solid three-dimensional fibre in Kirk’s being. He felt a powerful need to warn his friend of danger… and yet surely everything must have been safe and under control, despite appearances. Surely this was all part of the Pon Farr rite, surely Spock was in no danger. Kirk wished he could believe that. But believe or not, he was completely out of his element in this half-shadow world beyond his own tangible concept of reality; and besides, he’d been effectively put out of the action anyway for the time being, so all he could do was lie there and watch this strange incomprehensible ritual unfold before his eyes.

Laying aside the dagger, Spock picked up the chalice and drank of the blood-nectar; then Kirk had the distinct impression of the shadow-presence which hovered near taking the chalice and pouring the rest of the liquid as a libation over Spock's head and shoulders as he knelt in solemn concentration before the altar.

And then, suddenly, like an atomic blast, a shock wave of released energy crashed over Kirk, blinding him, crushing his being. He felt his breath driven from him as every cell in his body screamed, and he screamed too, he screamed for anyone who could hear his sub-aural cry of help.

“Jim!” he heard his name called through scintillating glare. “Jim, wake up!” Spock's voice cut through to him, Spock's grip on his shoulders shook him abruptly.

Kirk blinked, opened his eyes.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a silent smile, Kirk reached up for his partner. Willingly Spock leaned over him, and kissed him very deeply. Kirk’s lips parted, allowing the tongue deep into his mouth to probe and assume intimate privacies, while their bodies pressed close. And on Spock's breath and in the wetness of the Vulcan’s mouth, Kirk could taste spice with a faint coppery tinge.  
> … and T’Lar’s image rose before his eyes once again, and this time her crystal gaze locked on Kirk’s face very directly.

The cabin was lit at normal day-brightness, and Spock sat beside him on the edge of the bed, just where Kirk had first seen him, before time and space had slipped into the shadow-world for a few brief moments.

Kirk blinked again, then stared up into the calm concerned face of his Vulcan friend. Spock's hands still held his shoulders, and Kirk reached out a trembling hand to grip Spock's arm and reassure himself of the Vulcan’s real presence and solid flesh.

The Vulcan was very real.

Then in a flash of memory, Kirk grabbed Spock's left hand and jerked back the sleeve of his robe to expose his left wrist.

The skin was unsevered, clean, whole.

Kirk’s brow frowned with puzzlement as he pushed himself up to a sitting position on the bed. Then his eyes lit again.

“Your back.” he indicated. “Let me see your back.”

Compliantly Spock turned halfway. With both hands, Kirk took the robe’s collar and pulled the clothing from Spock's shoulders, expecting to see again evidence of a bloody whipping.

Spock's back was smooth, uncut, unscarred.

Kirk looked slightly confused, disoriented. He stared at the clean white material in his hands unstained by either blood or nectar. On the altar the censer still burned, but the chalice was gone. The quiet Vulcan music still drifted gently through the cabin, but now in the light, whatever shadow-presence Kirk had sensed earlier no longer seemed to be present. Kirk’s questioning eyes lifted to his friend’s face, so much depth in that dark gaze watching him steadily, calmly, lovingly.

Spock drew his robe back on.

Kirk started to speak, hesitated momentarily, then insisted, “I saw you whipped. You were kneeling by the altar and you were bloody… and you cut your wrist, and…”

“Jim…” Spock's hands rested on his shoulders. “Jim, it is all right. I have been sitting here with you for some time.”

“Is this real?”

“This is real.” Comfortingly Spock's fingers worked Kirk’s tense shoulders. “This is real, Jim.”

Disturbed puzzlement wavered in Kirk’s eyes. “Then… I must have just had a hallucination, Spock… a damned realistic one… I thought someone was in the room with us, I thought you cut your wrist, and I was paralyzed… and it scared the hell out of me… But it must have just been a dream… just some kind of nightmare…”

“It was not a dream, Jim. It happened.”

Kirk tightened beneath Spock's grip, eyes searched the Vulcan’s face. “But you just said that you were sitting here beside me all the time.”

“That is correct.”

“Did you mind-meld with me while I was asleep?”

“No.”

“Then what was it? Please explain what is going on.”

A long slender Vulcan finger touched Kirk lightly on the forehead between the eyes. “You must learn to rely less on your two physical eyes, and allow yourself to be guided by your third eye, the spiritual eye – the Tisra Til.”

Kirk could almost feel the tingle of Vulcan energy vibrating right into the core of his brain as though some switch had been thrown, as though some deep comatose part of himself had just been awakened – no, _re_ awakened after a thousand years of sleep.

Spock's hand slipped to Kirk’s hair, stroked the damp slightly-springy curls. “During Pon Farr, psychic and spiritual forces are permuted and expanded in the individual, as well as his physical needs. Now that we have consummated the physical as of last night, the emphasis has shifted to the psychic level. We must consummate at that level, then move on to the spiritual. What you viewed just now was your psychic impression of part of my catharsis – when you came into contact with my psychic force, your mind interpreted it to your physical eyes as a phantasmic image. From now on, the experiences will become more and more psychic as we bond more deeply. They may occur even when we are not physically melded. Do not be afraid of them.”

“I wouldn’t really say I’m afraid of them,” Kirk insisted. “I just wish I understood them.” He looked up at the man sitting beside him, the calm serious face.

Spock clasped fingers with him. “I am not able to explain the dreams to you, for they must reveal themselves to you at your level of understanding; otherwise, the symbolism will mean nothing to you. Each of our minds is creating images out of the psychic energy surrounding us at this time. When we meld, our images combine, and you are drawn into my intercourse with T’Lar on Vulcan. Ultimately, when Pon Farr is consummated, our two minds will be as one, creating the same images. When our dream-image can drink from the chalice which T’Lar offers, we shall be unified with each other and with the Absolute…. Jim, I realize that much of this is beyond your training and understanding. Do not attempt to analyze it. Just accept it, and allow it inside yourself. You have already allowed our bodies to join. Now allow our minds, our souls, to unite.”

With a silent smile, Kirk reached up for his partner. Willingly Spock leaned over him, and kissed him very deeply. Kirk’s lips parted, allowing the tongue deep into his mouth to probe and assume intimate privacies, while their bodies pressed close. And on Spock's breath and in the wetness of the Vulcan’s mouth, Kirk could taste spice with a faint coppery tinge.

… and T’Lar’s image rose before his eyes once again, and this time her crystal gaze locked on Kirk’s face very directly.

“Spock!” Kirk cried abruptly, breaking away from the kiss.

The image dissipated, and once more the four walls of the cabin solidified around him and Spock.

Kirk took a deep breath, half-embarrassed by his involuntary startlement. “I just saw her again, Spock – your Master T’Lar. Is she here all the time with us? Is she the presence I sensed in the room a little while ago?”

“The presence you sensed was that of a temple priest named Shen. When I perform the Pon Farr rites on Vulcan, he is my mate. As I am not able to be on Vulcan this time, and as you are not familiar with the rite, I requested Shen’s and T’Lar’s assistance. Ideally the two partners should not separate between episodes of sexual intercourse. The purpose is to remain one body, one mind, without interruption, so that the catharsis – the experience – may unfold steadily in its proper timing. To interrupt it – as the two of us must necessarily do – disturbs the very fragile psychic essences, causes imbalances, forces occurrences out of sequence. Therefore, T’Lar and Shen are adding their higher consciousnesses to ours – to hold the proceeding as closely as possible to the correct continuity, and to compensate for your lesser familiarity, so that my emotional purgation may be completed and our unified consciousness may reach the highest spiritual plane of which it is capable.”

Kirk smiled a little blankly. “I had no idea what I was getting into when I agreed to participate with you.”

“There would be no way for you to understand… I only urge you now to go beyond your physical understanding. What you will be experiencing from now on will not make sense to you if you continue to view it from the standpoint of solid three-dimensional reality. Also I should warn you that circumstances at times may be… less than pleasant. As my catharsis deepens now, you will observe pain that I may experience… you may even experience pain yourself. To complete our bond, your mind must be opened beyond its present level to more closely approach my own. Without years of training behind you, you may – correction – you _will_ – find it disturbing. Know that you are in control. Concentrate on your third eye, and you will surmount the barriers. T’Lar and Shen and I will support you as much as we are able, but you must achieve the growth yourself. It cannot simply be handed to you.”

“I don’t really understand, Spock, but I hope I can accomplish what you require of me for the fulfillment of your ritual.”

“You shall, Jim.”

Now Kirk swung his legs off the bed, and got up to retrieve his robe from the closet and hang up his uniform. There would be no need for jacket and boots and rank-insignia for the next few days. “Spock,” he inquired of the man still sitting on the edge of the bed, “I’ve never asked you before… may I ask why you don’t have a wife? I thought Vulcan parents bonded their children at age seven to their future spouses. But you say you’ve always mated with the priest. Didn’t your parents bond you when you were a child?”

Vulcan eyes closed in sudden pain. “Yes,” he admitted carefully. “I was bonded with my wife-to-be. Her name was T’Chal – it means ‘daughter of the chalyss flower’.”

“A very beautiful name,” Kirk replied softly. “She must have been a very lovely girl.”

Spock nodded face tight with old memories.

“What happened to her, if I may ask?”

The old memories evoked pain in Spock's voice. “We consummated the marriage when we turned twenty-one. I was a cadet at Starfleet Academy at the time. After the week of Pon Farr, I was immediately called back to the Academy. I never saw her again. She died a month later, carrying our child… Please excuse me, Jim, I am unable to speak of her.” His voice ended in a whisper.

“I understand,” Kirk attempted comfort. “I won’t mention it again. I… offer my condolences.”

“Thank you, Jim.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, stuck on the edge of Romulan space, then attack of a deadly virus. And now, on top of all this, Spock's Pon Farr. Damn. What goddamned bad timing. What goddamned lousy bad timing.  
> McCoy had so many feelings about that, so many crazy mixed-up feelings – not that his opinions would in any way alter the foregone course. … but, goddamned… Jim and Spock having sex… and Jim falling in love with his first-officer. That wasn’t the hell supposed to happen – that just wasn’t the hell supposed to happen at all…

When the door to his cabin slid shut behind him, Leonard McCoy collapsed back against it, finally surrendering to the exhaustion that attenuated every nerve, every muscle in his body. Not even the massive doses of stimulants and inoculations he’d been shooting into his bloodstream for the last few weeks could ultimately stave off the impending avalanche of stress-reaction and total mental shutdown. He was starting to make errors in patients’ charts, missing obvious patient symptoms; and it wouldn’t be too long before he made a really serious mistake like miscalculating a drug dosage, or letting a laser-scalpel slip. It was Doctor Chapel who pointed out to him that, although he had the authority to pronounce any other crewman, including the admiral, fit or unfit for duty, that authority did not extend to himself as the patient. Therefore, unless he voluntarily took off the remainder of the day to rest and recuperate, she would officially declare him unfit and order security to firmly escort him to his cabin and hold him under house-arrest.

He voluntarily took off the remainder of the day.

Now he had to admit, his bunk really did look inviting. With his last reserve of strength, he made it over to sit on the edge of the bed, yank his boots off, then flop back down onto the pillow in utter relief and sheer fatigue. In a few years he’d be seventy years old – and right now he felt every one of those seventy years creeping through his muscles and stiffening his bones.

He was really tired. This goddamned epidemic completely frustrated him and his entire staff. They were no closer to the answer now than when it had first broken out. They knew what it wasn’t – it wasn’t any known bacteria or virus – but that sure in hell didn’t give them any idea as to what it was. The symptoms were similar to cholera or very violent stomach flu. They’d lost eleven crew members to it when it first appeared, but very quickly they’d modified life-support to adjust for the devastating dehydration and fever delirium, and so far they hadn't lost anyone else in Sickbay. The other nine victims had never even made it to Sickbay. So far, the epidemic had attacked 247 people – more than a third of the ship’s entire population. Only one spark of hope glimmered right now, and that was that at least for the moment the outbreak seemed to have levelled off. No new cases had appeared since 14:30 of the previous afternoon. So, either the disease was finally abating of its own accord, or else this was merely the eye of the storm. McCoy prayed it was the former. It would be a hell of a finale for the USS Enterprise, after waging so many victorious bloody conflicts against the Klingons and the Romulans and so many other enemies of the Federation and Starfleet, to ultimately be dragged down by a handful of microscopic bugs.

And now, on top of all this, Spock's Pon Farr. Damn. What goddamned bad timing. What goddamned lousy bad timing.

He had so many feelings about that, so many crazy mixed-up feelings – not that his opinions would in any way alter the foregone course. _But, goddamned… Jim and Spock having sex… and Jim falling in love with his first-officer. That wasn’t the hell supposed to happen – that just wasn’t the hell supposed to happen at all._

After twenty-eight years of living, working, fighting, laughing together, a real blood-brotherhood existed among the three of them. McCoy knew them both, could read them both as if they were transparent. Even Spock could not hide his pain, pleasure, fatigue, from McCoy’s perceptive sense – the doctor could see right through the stolid Vulcan mask regardless of how carefully the first-officer composed it. For all intents and purposes, it was a perfect equal balance three-way relationship.

… _and now I feel left out… is that it? is that what’s really concerning me now?... they’re lovers, and I’m just a friend… Jim says that he and Spock have literally shared consciousnesses… they’re growing closer together, and I’m not, and I can’t… In no way do I want to share… sex… with either one of them… but to be left out now hurts, a hell of a lot… And what about Jim – falling in love, and falling hard… so what happens at the end of the week when Spock's hormones turn off but Jim’s do not? what will that do to Jim? and what will it do to Jim’s command capabilities?_...

Kirk was a man of intense emotions and just as intense sexual desires. Often McCoy had acted as father-confessor and confidante; he knew how deeply Kirk had been wounded by a couple of earlier relationships that had gone sour, despite his usual casual attitude toward his usual casual contacts with women, what little off-time he got from his command duties. And besides the deleterious effects on emotional well-being that long-term star-travel carried, normal healthy sexual expression was also seriously deterred. McCoy knew that well enough himself, being separated from his wife nine months out of every year; and indeed, during Enterprise’s quarter-century service, some missions away from Earth had lasted more than a year – or two, or three. At least a Vulcan would not feel inconvenienced by such mandates, but for humans that was nearly asking the impossible. There were some shipboard romances – in fact, there were a lot of them – but that was a pleasure the commander of the ship could not participate in: to engage in anything that smacked of intimate fraternization with subordinates could very seriously undermine the captaincy and the proficiency of the ship itself.

And Kirk certainly knew that well enough and had abided by it strictly all these years – until now. It was one thing to assist a subordinate; it was quite another to fall in love with one, although Spock – and McCoy – were near-equals to the admiral, the closest Kirk had for equals aboard the ship. But for Kirk and Spock to actually develop a love-affair…

McCoy could imagine a number of different outcomes from such an occurrence… but not one was practical or feasible. The most likely, of course, would be simply that Spock would politely decline any such offer on the grounds of sexuality incompatibility, not to mention military and social impropriety, leaving Kirk embarrassed and frustrated, which in turn would express as friction between the ship’s captain and first-officer – and no close-knit ship’s-complement could long stand such divisiveness at its lead.

Or if, on the other hand, Spock agreed to the liaison out of his absolute loyalty to the admiral, or a feeling of deep indebtedness, that loyalty would conflict with his very Vulcan-ness which could not condone such inappropriate behavior, not to mention his total lack of sexual desire conflicting with Kirk’s surging passions, and Spock himself would be ripped apart by the internal stress of such contradiction and illogicality, thereby once again deteriorating command-quality.

Or if, perchance, both Kirk and Spock did agree to and accept a long-term homosexual relationship, sooner or later the rest of the crew would find out – no matter how discreet they were, no matter what careful precautions they might invoke, sooner or later it would most certainly come to light.

… _and then, ladies and gentlemen, the excrement would indeed hit the proverbial fan… it should’ve been me instead of Jim, I should have insisted… at least, chain of command would not have risked threat then… regardless of the emotional outcome… at least Enterprise’s hierarchy would remain untouched, unsullied… oh god if anyone were aware of what is taking place in Spock's cabin this very minute… should I try to talk to either one of them? both of them? offer counsel? would they consider it any of my business?_...

… _but my duty is to the physical, emotional, and mental well-being of every member of this crew, and particularly high-command, so that makes it my business_ …

… _hell with duty, I just don’t want to lose my two closest friends, and if they become lovers it won’t be the same – it’s already not the same… whatever happened to ‘all for one and one for all’?... what am I supposed to do now? what the hell am I supposed to do now?... jeezuschrist, after all these years_ …

McCoy didn’t remember falling asleep, but the abrupt squeal of the door buzzer jerked him sharply awake.

Another buzz.

“Come in,” he muttered, sitting up on the edge of the bed and rubbing a hand over his stubbled face. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had time enough to shave. He wondered if it was Kirk or Spock outside his door with a last-minute request. Or maybe Christine to let him out of solitary confinement now. The door slid open.

It was Scott.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Doctor,” the Scotsman greeted, “but the admiral said to contact him through you, so I’ve just brought today’s duty-shift report for him.”

McCoy took the proffered scan-pad. “Uh, yeah, thanks, Scotty.” Fatigue haze still hovered near the edges of his consciousness.

Scott frowned with concern. “Are ye all right, Leonard? I didna’ mean to disturb you. I looked for you in Sickbay, but Doctor Chapel said ye were na’ there, that she had sent you to bed.”

“That’s all right, Scotty. I’m fine, just a little tired, but Chris threatened me with house arrest if I didn’t take a break from Sickbay. So I agreed to go voluntarily.”

“Well, that was a wise choice,” Scott agreed. “Chris Chapel is one lady I wouldna’ dare disobey.” He frowned again. “But are ye certain you’re all right? Pardon my sayin’, Doctor, but ye look terrible. You have na’ contracted the virus, have ye?”

McCoy shook his head in reassurance. “No, Scotty, I can’t afford to – half my own crew is down with it. What about you? Engineering seems to be having a pretty bad time of it too.”

“Aye, that we are. But I’m well enough. I canna’ afford to be abed right now, what with overseeing engine repair and now taking the bridge for the admiral. I had a wee bout of indigestion a few days ago, but it passed overnight. The food processors must have let something spoil, I think. Doctor…” The engineer’s countenance tightened with a thought, lips set beneath salt-and-pepper moustache. “Doctor, the bridge crew is concerned about the admiral and Mister Spock. Are they well?”

McCoy reacted sharply – a little too sharply to cover.

Scott noted his reaction and added hastily, “If ye canna’ answer, I will na’ ask. If it’s nae our business, I understand. It’s just that we’ve all been worried about Mister Spock for several days, and now the admiral has turned over command to me for the rest of the week. We were just concerned that Mister Spock might be ill with the virus.”

Regaining his composure,” McCoy assured, “Uh, no, Scotty, it’s nothing like that. I’m… not at liberty to discuss it, but they’re both all right.”

… _at least I hope so_ , he thought to himself…

“I understand, Leonard… Well, we’d appreciate it if ye would offer our concerns, but let them know that everything is running smoothly. The ship is in good hands – we’ll nae let anything happen to the bonnie lass.”

McCoy matched Scotty’s smile. “I’ll let them know, Scotty.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” The Scotsman turned to leave.

Abruptly sudden realization burst upon McCoy – he thrust up off the bed toward the departing visitor. “Scotty, wait!”

Scott hesitated; looked back expectantly.

McCoy’s pale eyes nearly glowed with eagerness as he accosted Scott, grabbed his arm. “Scotty, you said you’d had some indigestion last week – are you sure it was just indigestion, or could it have been a touch of the virus?”

Scott shrugged in McCoy’s intent grip. “Well, I’m not abed in Sickbay, so it couldna’ have been the virus.”

McCoy’s eyes didn’t look completely sane. “When did it happen, Scotty? how soon after you’d last eaten? Did you have a fever?”

Scott wasn’t sure quite what to make of the doctor’s intensity.

“Aye, I did feel a mite warm – I canna’ remember all the details, I just remember spending a few anxious hours in the head – I couldna’ leave, if ye divine my meaning…”

“When did it happen?”

“In the middle of the night, about oh-two-hundred – I had to rush out of bed. I’d say seven or eight hours after supper.”

McCoy was tugging him out the door, hustling them both down the corridor to Sickbay. “Indigestion doesn’t wait that long to come on. Why didn’t you report to Sickbay immediately?”

Startlement registered on the engineer’s face, as McCoy’s determined stride and firm grip on his elbow propelled them though the hallways. “I couldna’ risk being confined to quarters – I’ve had work to accomplish, and with my crew nearly gone, I couldna’ afford to be sick anymore than you could, Leonard. Besides, it only lasted a few hours. I had decided that if it had lasted ‘til morning, I’d report it to you, but it didna’. Where are we going, Doctor?”

“To the lab. I want to run some blood tests, see if we can find out if you had the disease, and if so, why you recovered in just a few hours.”

Scott attempted minor resistance. “Doctor McCoy, you’re nae going to keep my from my duties, are ye?”

“You don’t go back on duty until tomorrow morning. Until then, you’re mine. Dammit, Scotty, this may turn out to be our first lead against this damned epidemic. Don’t pull rank now.” He strode into the lab, practically thrust his prize specimen into a chair, then grabbed a syringe.

“I wouldna’ dream of it, Leonard, if ye think I can help in any way.”

At the sound of their voices, Christine Chapel burst into the lab. “What are you doing here, Len? I thought I told you to go to bed and stay there until tomorrow morning.”

Scott apologized. “I fear I’m to blame, Chris. I just happened to mention to the doctor that I’d had a mite of indigestion a few days ago, and he decided to check me out thinkin’ I might have had a bit of a run-in with the virus.”

He winced as McCoy inserted a needled to a radial vein, although McCoy’s practiced touch made it as painless as possible.

McCoy watched one tube fill up with dark venal blood, then switched it with an empty one. He didn’t look up at Chapel as he spoke. “There’s a chance Scotty might have had actually had a mild case of the virus and recovered in a few hours. I want to run a complete antibody panel and an AVR screen and TTR. Where is a lab-tech?”

Chapel didn’t answer his question. She was staring at Scott, excitement dawning in her eyes as the same realization as McCoy’s warmed on her awareness. “Oh god, Len, do you think it’s possible?”

“We’ll know when we get the test results.” McCoy was finishing a third tube and starting on a fourth. “Now where the hell is a tech to run this blood?”

Chapel was adjusting a small electronic appliance on the counter, then she took the already-filled test-tubes and emptied one of them into the device. “We’re down to one tech now, and I just let her off-duty for the night… And that still goes for you too, Len. Get out of here before you fall on your face. I’ll process the blood.”

“Dammit, Doctor Chapel, I’ve got work to do now. Don’t interrupt me now.”

Stubbornness flashed in Chapel’s eyes, just as adamant as McCoy’s own obstinacy. “Leonard, you’re practically asleep on your feet. Get out of here. I’ll run the tests, then call you with the results. The antibody panel is going to take several hours anyway. At least get some sleep until it’s done. You too, Scotty. Will you make sure for me that Len goes back to his cabin? – then go to bed yourself.”

The silver-haired Scotsman grinned. “That I will, lass. And Doctor McCoy, now I’m pulling rank. If Doctor Chapel wants you to get some sleep, then I command it. Dinna’ make me call you on charges of insubordination, all right?”

Glumly McCoy stared at both of them, then grunted, “Well, I can’t fight you both, so I’ll go. But only,” – a finger jabbed at his female partner – “if you promise to call me the instant that test finishes.”

“I promise. Go on.” A nod to the side indicated the door.

“All right,” McCoy acceded. “C’mon, Scotty, let’s obey the doctor before she calls Security on us.” As Scott escorted him back to his cabin, he remarked, “I sure hope we get a valid lead from this, Scotty. I sure in hell hope so.”

“I do too, Doctor,” Scott agreed. “I do too.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jim,” Spock murmured again. “You said you wished to propose marriage to me.”  
> “…mm hm...” Soft gentle caresses of human lips grinning against Vulcan skin.  
> “Were you serious about that?”  
> The grin stole into hazel eyes. “I would be if you were a woman.”  
> “Jim…” A long hesitation.  
> “What?”  
> For a moment Spock didn’t answer, as he carefully weighed his next words in thoughtful Vulcan manner.

Rolling onto his side toward Spock, Kirk propped his head up on a fist so he could look over at the long robed figure lying beside him. “Spock…”

“Yes, Jim?”

Smile teased human lips; caressing hand reached over to that long lean figure. “You let me come alone in the shower this afternoon, but you didn’t get anything in return. Would you like a little compensation now?”

“I’ll have it soon.” Spock turned his head to watch his old friend. “I just wanted to do something good for you. I am aware that when I join you your ecstasy is disrupted…”

“ – like touching a live wire – ”

“… therefore, I chose to assist you with a little human pleasure. Vulcan pleasure must be very strenuous for you.”

“Vulcan pleasure,” Kirk assured, “is indescribable… and I thank you for the human pleasure as well.”

“I am trying to please you as well as I am able during this experience,” Spock commented. “Since I will never be able to touch you again, and I know you wish it, I am attempting to ease your desire somewhat.”

“Damn right I wish it,” the human agreed. “But trying to pack a lifetime of love-making into seven days? that won’t ease my desire, Spock.” Kirk’s vein-ridged hand stroked shoulder, face. “I’m… embarrassed to admit it, but… I’m in love with you. And… I’m just going to have to live with that – being around you every day, working closely with you like before, and wanting to touch you, make out with you… and knowing damn well I can’t. And that’s just the way it is. Nothing I can do about it.”

“I did not intend for this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t. I didn’t intend for it to happen either.” Fingers stroked Spock's deeply-lined fifty-six-year-old face. “I wish to god things were different. I’ve never felt like this before. Not even with the few good women friends I’ve had. McCoy says that it’s just nerves and an over-active imagination, but he’s wrong…. I know this is a ridiculous thing to say, but… if you were a woman, I’d propose marriage to you. I wish we could spend our lives together.”

A lift of Vulcan eyebrow. “That hardly seems a relevant concern after twenty-eight years.”

Kirk grinned, then had to admit, “You’re right – as always, Spock. And I suppose a good tight relationship between a captain and first-mate like we have really is pretty much like a marriage after all.”

“I would say so,” Spock agreed. Then reaching up to take Kirk’s hand touching his cheek, he caressed cool thin lips across warm fingers. “Jim, it is my suggestion that we not continually think of the finality of the end of this week from now on, as that will serve only to cause you anguish, but rather concentrate on the pleasures of the days themselves.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Kirk agreed. “And I… hope I’m not embarrassing you by admitting all my private thoughts.”

“Jim,” Spock reminded, “I have already told you that my love for you is as great as yours for me, whether it is expressed or not. I am at ease with the idea of strong feelings between us. And although I have said that we cannot conjoin this deeply after my Pon Farr concludes, perhaps I can come to you to repay you for assisting me through this. I will do whatever you wish, in return for your present help.”

“Spock, you know that isn’t necessary. I don’t want you to agree to anything just out of a sense of duty or obligation, or even loyalty to our friendship. My friendship is without price, you know that.”

“I will do it for you simply because you want it. For no other reason.”

“Oh, Spock, of course I want it, but…”

“Then at the completion of the rite we shall speak again of this matter. If you wish a union with me, perhaps at that time, a… temporary arrangement my be formulated…”

“Spock, that really isn’t necessary… you said yourself that… a homosexual union…” – there was no other phrase for it – “was unthinkable to Vulcans… Vulcan would not consider it appropriate…”

Spock's fingers touched Kirk’s lips. “We shall speak of it later.”

Kirk kissed strong slender fingers, and he echoed his Vulcan friend. “We shall…” And then rolling on top of his partner, propped up on his elbows on either side of Spock's head, the starship captain murmured quietly, “So let’s concentrate on the pleasure of the days themselves.”

Spock's hands slipped up to Kirk’s bare shoulders beneath blue satin. “As you wish, Admiral.” His eyes half-closed, lips parted slightly.

Kirk’s mouth covered Spock's firmly. A moan of satisfaction purred in Kirk’s throat, as his forearms on either side of Spock's head pressed close, cradling the Vulcan’s head, holding it close for Kirk to kiss and caress with lips and tongue, while fingers stroked smooth soft grey-wisped black hair. He couldn’t imagine anything more pleasant than making love to this man – yet if twenty-eight years before, someone had suggested that when the two of them were mid-fifties-years-old, they’d be sharing physical love and sex, Kirk would have instantly demanded retraction.

But now that was exactly what they were doing, and Kirk had no other wants or needs in the world. Just to lie here and love this man for days without interruption.

He broke the kiss now; pulled his head back a few inches to look down at the face of this man whom he loved. Spock was not matinee-idol handsome, at least not in the Earth sense of the word, but his alien Vulcan-ness of sallow complexion, thin upswept black eyebrows, long hollow-cheeked face now carved in deep austere lines of maturity, had caught the interest of more than a few female crew members throughout his years of service aboard the Enterprise. And now the captain’s interest belonged to him as well.

Fate was indeed strange.

“Jim,” Spock spoke his name very gently.

“…mm?...” Kirk relaxed in a hazy pleasant sensation. He leaned down again for another kiss to Spock's face. Lips caressed the weathered skin.

Spock's fingers stroked light touches on Kirk’s bare shoulders. “Jim,” he murmured again. “You said you wished to propose marriage to me.”

“…mm hm...” Soft gentle caresses of human lips grinning against Vulcan skin.

“Were you serious about that?”

The grin stole into hazel eyes. “I would be if you were a woman.”

“Jim…” A long hesitation.

“What?”

For a moment Spock didn’t answer, as he carefully weighed his next words in thoughtful Vulcan manner. Kirk was used to that. He kissed Spock's cheek again.

And finally Spock had ordered his thoughts. “Jim,” he ventured again, “I have a serious proposal of my own to make. You do not wish us to part after this week… and neither do I.” A furrow creased his brow, as his fingers stroked Kirk’s hand gently. “Jim, would you consider joining me in life-bonding?”

Surprise jerked Kirk out of his hazy pleasant reverie. A questioning look danced over his face. “Life-bonding?” he echoed. “Are you speaking of Vulcan mate-bonding?”

“Yes.”

“Spock…” Light confusion and hesitation mingled on Kirk’s countenance. “Are _you_ serious?”

“Yes, I am. Would you like to join me as my mate for eternity?”

“Spock, we’re both men. I mean, if it weren’t for that…”

Spock nodded thoughtfully. He did not speak for a few more moments, but seemed intent in his own mental processes. Kirk’s quizzical gaze lingered on his good friend.

“Spock,” Kirk said, nervous and caught more than slightly off-guard. “I, uh, don’t understand. Are you sure? You just said that we couldn’t touch after Pon Farr. Do you really mean what you’re saying now?”

Another thoughtful nod.

“But is it possible?”

“Do you wish it, Jim?”

“Uh, yes… yes, I do, Spock. But I don’t understand how…”

Finally the Vulcan responded. “I have been considering the prospect since our discussion early this afternoon.” And then a sallow flush darkened his face as he corrected himself. “Actually, Jim, I have been considering this for some time even prior to our discussion.”

Deeper surprise registered on Kirk’s face, but Spock didn’t look at him as he continued speaking.

“The bonding can be accomplished through the Pon Farr ritual. Master T’Lar would initiate us. You say that you would like us to marry: life-bonding is marriage – and more. It is an eternal bond between two persons who choose to share life-experience forever, whose souls combine from infinity to infinity. It cannot be entered into lightly.”

“Spock…” Jim Kirk hardly knew what to say. “Spock, yes, I want it. But how can two men… You had said before that for a Vulcan male to spill seed with another man is practically a mortal sin – as it is for a lot of humans as well – ”

Spock nodded carefully, face still flushed with greenish cast. “I also said that this communion we share extends far beyond gender and other dividing aspects of two souls. And as we just mentioned earlier, we two have, in a manner of speaking, already been informal bond-mates for many years now, probably two decades at least. Now you have expressed a desire for us to formalize our bonding… and I too have such desires. Yes, Vulcan does disapprove of sexual bonding between males for reasons of reproduction and species continuation. But it is very doubtful at my age to expect to find an unmated Vulcan female who shares my particular fertility cycle; nor could I devote my life to a mate and a home back on Vulcan which I would rarely see. My life has belonged to the Enterprise and to you for many years now. I made that choice long ago. You know that there were even a few incidents in the past where I deliberately had to choose between a woman who meant a great deal to me, and my duty to the Enterprise – and you know which I chose. And you yourself have had a couple of similar occurrences in your own experience.”

Kirk nodded silently.

Spock still was not looking at him. “Up until this time, I have spent each Pon Farr with Shen, but it has always been less than satisfactory, as I do not love Shen nor do I live with him on a daily basis; therefore the rite is not the celebration of life-long mutual spiritual development which it is meant to be. You and I, on the other hand, have grown very close together. And now we have openly expressed our feelings for each other, and our desires to increase that closeness. To now fail to act upon mutual agreement would be illogical.”

Kirk couldn’t help smiling. The man beside him was nothing if not logical. But Kirk had to question. “What about T’Lar? You said she would help us through the bonding process. What is she going to think of this… turn of events?”

Spock's voice was quiet. “I believe she will recognize the logic of our reasoning, and acknowledge it. The Master understands that our bonding is already very deep, that our unity surpasses mere physical and sexual gratification. If we choose to bond for eternity as wedded mates, she will accept it.”

“Yes,” Kirk agreed quietly. “Our relationship does go beyond physical needs, sexual gratification… But what about those needs, Spock? How do you suggest we deal with them? I cannot wait seven years between times, but I certainly don’t want to force you against your will either. I agree, sex is not the most important aspect of a relationship, but it definitely is one – definitely for me.”

“And for me as well… certainly you are aware of that this week.”

“Yes. Of course.” Casually Kirk caressed long sensitive fingers. “But you will have no sexual feelings for me at all after this week, isn’t that right? You will no longer receive pleasure if we… have intercourse.”

Gently Spock returned the finger-caresses, and Kirk suddenly realized they were mimicking the Vulcan outward sign of affection, and Spock was accepting it as such. “It is correct that I am unable to reach sexual consummation beyond the week of Pon Farr every seven years. But I can and will experience satisfaction knowing that you are enjoying our intercourse. Is that not even more important that my particular sexual abilities?”

“If it is to you, Spock… I just don’t want us to decide in a short time that our separate racial sexual habits are too disparate after all to be combined. I know you dislike being touched, you find physical contact very invasive and distasteful.”

“Jim, I have always allowed you that intimacy. I do not find your touch – sexual or otherwise – to be distasteful.”

“But do you mean to allow me to… initiate intercourse?... to reverse our present rôles? I would think that a Vulcan male would find it extremely offensive to… submit, and I… have no desire to offend you.”

“Jim…” Spock's gentle grip on Kirk’s hand squeezed affectionately, paired fingers stroked. “I have chosen to do so. If we bond, then your physical needs must be met as well as my own. Since you will be assisting me through my future requirements, it is my duty – and my desire – to assist you through yours. I shall deny you nothing.”

Kirk smiled at his closest friend. Their shoulders touched, hips, thighs. “At least we know we’re compatible in all other respects.”

“After twenty-eight years, I would hope so,” Spock agreed.

And then the smile faded from Kirk’s lips. “As long as we’re discussing this, there’s one other serious concern we haven’t considered. What about the ship, Spock? what about the crew? If we go through with this and we sleep together frequently, they’re going to find out. How are we supposed to deal with that?”

Spock frowned. “I do not know,” he admitted. ‘You will have more difficulty concealing your emotions than I will. This may indeed entail a major shift in our life-style.”

“Like giving up the ship.”

Spock's tightened shoulders acquiesced the point.

“Are you ready to do that, Spock?”

“Are you?”

For a long time Kirk didn’t answer, but continued to gently caress fingers with the man beside him. Spock remained silent. Kirk could feel adrenalin tension in his chest. That was what it always came down to, wasn’t it? The ship. The Enterprise. He was father, husband, slave to a very possessive mistress. But then, so was Spock. Surely there was a way to keep her. Surely Kirk could maintain enough discretion to guard against crew-wide revelation of his and Spock's sleeping habits. But if it were not possible or feasible…

Helplessly he shook his head. “Spock,” he pronounced. “Is our motivation in this matter truly the best for all concerned?”

“Yes,” Spock replied without hesitation. “Our souls have already unified part-way, Jim. You know the reality of my feelings for you. You know my motivation regarding this matter as surely as I know yours. I love you, Jim, and I am in love with you, and you with me. For anything less, what we are contemplating would be immoral. For anything less, I would not propose something as serious and irrevocable as life-bonding. Jim, do you wish to bond with me?”

Kirk hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yes, Spock, I do,” he finally asserted. “I guess we’ll find out pretty soon the cost of this action, won’t we?”

“I am willing to pay it.”

“I am too.” Kirk sat up on the edge of the bed. “All right. I guess now we’ve mutually proposed to each other, and we’ve mutually accepted. So how do we perform this life-bonding? What are we supposed to do now?”

“T’Lar will supervise the ritual. Submit to whatever occurs. I told you before that you might experience discomfort during Pon Farr; during life-bonding you will definitely experience extremes of both pain and pleasure. The rite is one of purification and healing. Both partners must be cleansed as wholly as possible so that the bond will created without taint, without defilement. It is the most holy rite of all Vulcan culture.”

Kirk acknowledged with a slight bow of his head. “I respect that, Spock. I hope I can… perform adequately.” He smiled warmly at his partner. “I… do love you, Spock – even though I’m still a little hesitant about saying it.”

“I love you too, Jim.” The Vulcan’s deeply etched face leaned close for a kiss; willingly Kirk accepted it, then lay back down on top of Spock, and met his lips again.

And then abruptly, out of nowhere, a totally unholy desire wormed its way into Kirk’s mind. A devilish look smouldered somewhere deep within Kirk’s eyes, a bright impish gleam which caused Spock to suddenly watch him warily. Kirk tried to hide the tiny ominous smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

“Jim,” Spock mentioned hesitantly, cautiously, “what are you considering right now?”

“What’s the matter, Spock?” Kirk prodded playfully. “I thought Vulcans could read minds.”

Spock's eyes narrowed as Kirk reared over him. “My psychic impression is that for some unknown reason, I am presently in some mild physical danger.”

Kirk looked down at him, innocent eyes a little too bright to be reassuring. “Oh, now, what would give you that idea, Mister Spock?”

“The way you are eyeing my face so…” Spock didn’t get another word out before Kirk abruptly dived on him, hungry lips attacking one very vulnerable curved upswept pointed-tipped ear. “… oh!...” Spock yelped, as human lips tugged at the tapered tip, human teeth nipped tender cartilage. “Jim, please!...”

A chuckle in Kirk’s throat as he deliberately ignored his first-officer’s pleadings. Delightedly he bit down, not to draw blood, but to evoke a grimace of pain from the Vulcan, which Spock rendered for him – very satisfactorily. “Jim!”

Kirk’s weight lay atop Spock's supine form while his hands held Spock's face pressed to the side of the pillow, and his tongue explored its strange inhuman prize, prodded, probed, tasted, licked.

Spock squirmed, made a face of distaste, as his ear was casually violated. “Jim, please don’t,” he complained.

But Kirk continued to ignore all pleas in his pleasure of nipping and tonguing the exotic upswept ear-tip.

Again Spock urged, “Jim, let me go.”

“Mm mm,” Kirk refused, tonguing all along down the outer edge of a Vulcan ear. Then he kissed the aural opening itself.

And again Spock grimaced. “Please Jim, cease your activities.”

Hand stroked short black silk, lips closed on ear-tip for tongue to harass again. “Mm, why?”

Another wince. “Because my ears are very sensitive, and I do not wish for you to salivate all over them.” Then Vulcan hands reached up to grip Kirk’s upper arms.

And Kirk realized he was in trouble. In his delight, he had forgotten the great disparity between human and Vulcan muscle power, overlooking the obvious fact that it was not his strength which was holding Spock down on the bed, allowing Kirk the intimate advantage to molest the little object of his desire.

He didn’t have a thing to say as he was pulled off and rolled over onto his back beneath Spock's weight, no matter how much he struggled. One strong hand pinned both of Kirk’s wrists over his head on the pillow. Now it was Kirk’s turn to look up warily at the sere inscrutable face hovering darkly over his.

Dark Vulcan eyes absorbed him. “Now, Admiral, how should you be reprimanded for abusing a fellow officer against his will?”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vulcan watched his prisoner calmly. “Do you know,” he ventured evenly, “I cannot comprehend this human obsession regarding my ears. During my first few years aboard this vessel, I was acutely aware that both Lieutenant Uhura and Nurse Chapel desired to commit intimacies with my ears, and I am sure that only my position as their superior officer prevented either of them from actually attempting to do so. I certainly never expected my own superior officer to emerge as the perpetrator.”

Dark Vulcan eyes absorbed him. “Now, Admiral, how should you be reprimanded for abusing a fellow officer against his will?”

Desperately Kirk tried to offer a suggestion to save his skin. “Uh… you could forgive and forget, and let me go.”

“No, Admiral, I don’t believe so.”

“Spock…” Tentatively Kirk tried to free his hands, but did not succeed. “Spock… uh, let me go.”

“No, Jim.” Spock pinned him securely. The Vulcan watched his prisoner calmly. “Do you know,” he ventured evenly, “I cannot comprehend this human obsession regarding my ears. During my first few years aboard this vessel, I was acutely aware that both Lieutenant Uhura and Nurse Chapel desired to commit intimacies with my ears, and I am sure that only my position as their superior officer prevented either of them from actually attempting to do so. I certainly never expected my own superior officer to emerge as the perpetrator.”

Kirk tried to shrug and smile from his disadvantaged situation. “Vulcan ears are strange and exotic-looking to us humans. We find them, uh… fascinating.”

A slanted eyebrow lifted in characteristic quizzical reflection. “To a Vulcan, human ears look strange as well. But we most certainly do not find them fascinating.”

Again Kirk tested the security of Spock's grip on his wrists; again his attempt proved futile. “Umm, what are you going to do to me, Spock?”

Spock held him pinned with little effort. “I am going to repay you for your behavior concerning my ears.” With his free hand, Spock unfastened his robe, loosed the belt, then pulled the material out from underneath himself so that their bodies pressed together naked, save for the brief linen skirts girding their loins.

A little uneasily Kirk scanned the Vulcan face of his first-officer and (hopefully) best friend for any glimmer of humor. The Vulcan face revealed nothing, as usual – how should one decipher blank impassivity when one’s well-being (perhaps) and dignity (most definitely) lay entirely in such hands?

“Let me up, Spock,” he insisted, feebly resisting.

“No, Jim.”

More feeble resistance, a little more desperately, not a bit more successfully. “… umm… _please_ let me up, Spock?”

“I told you no.”

“Please… All right, I just gave into temptation, just this once… I couldn’t help myself…”

“Next time you _will_ help yourself, will you not?”

Kirk nodded in frantic agreement. “Yes, Spock, yes, anything you say, just let me go.”

“No.”

“Spock…”

Spock's free hand began working down between their bodies, and he commented levelly, “I understand that there are certain areas of the human anatomy which are extremely tender and sensitive to pressure.” Long Vulcan fingers pushed beneath Kirk’s skirt to his testicles, caressed the handful.

Kirk’s eyes bugged in anticipation of pain. “Spock, don’t!” – a little more frantically. Fingers slid beneath to the base of the scrotum. “Please, Spock!...” Unwilled sweat spangled his forehead. And suddenly all he could think about was his usually calm passive first-officer raving and raging on the bridge but two days before. It was fortuitous that Vulcans rarely expressed anger or rage toward others, because what few times they did, their super-human strength and nearly-feral intensity plus their highly skilled technical knowledge of disabling and pain-inducing anatomical pressure points rendered them extremely hazardous to any hapless victim of their ferocity.

Spock's fingers seemed to find just the spot they sought in the warmth of Kirk’s crotch, and dug right in at the base of his captive testicles. Kirk yelped, awaiting excruciating pain… surely he didn’t deserve this… he couldn’t possibly have done anything bad enough to warrant such horrible torture… Electric sensations sizzled from crotch to brain… Spock had known precisely where to apply pressure to evoke tingling sensations.

Again Kirk yelped.

“Jim,” Spock mentioned calmly – very calmly for someone who was in the process of torturing their commanding officer – “perhaps you should lower your voice… do you wish to be found by your crew in my quarters, in my bed?”

Tightly Kirk shook his head. Another electric jag between his legs… Kirk started to yell again, before the realization finally broke through his anticipation of dire agony that actually the sensation wasn’t painful at all, but quite exquisitely stimulating and exciting like the bite of ginger alcohol, stinging and warming.

Spock's prodding fingers manipulated the sensitive spot; shimmering waves of ecstasy washed over Kirk, surged through him. If he hadn't already reached climax just a little while ago in the shower, he most certainly would have right there beneath the Vulcan’s weight.

“Spock…” he breathed, no longer a plea for the Vulcan to stop. “… god, Spock…” Eyes dulled with pleasure, he looked up into the once-expressionless face.

Spock was smiling now.

“Spock…” A dazed smiled crept over Kirk’s face as the firm Vulcan fingers continued to manipulate him expertly. “… is this your idea of punishment?” Breath nearly escaped him.

“No,” Spock admitted freely, keeping Kirk at the acme of ecstasy. He leaned his face close to Kirk’s for a kiss. “… _This_ is.”   Kirk readied himself to accept his lover’s kiss – whatever kind of punishment that was – but suddenly without warning, Spock's attention shifted, head ducked to the side, and Vulcan teeth nipped one very tender unsuspecting human ear.

One very tender unsuspecting human screeched in surprise.

As soon as Spock released Kirk’s ear, Kirk jerked his head away, shooting a very accusative glare at his first-officer, only to be met with a most unusual sight: the impassive Vulcan face actually wore an unabashed expression of self-satisfied delight.

“You fraud!” Kirk accused, wrists still pinned back on the pillow. “You said you didn’t like human ears. You lied!”

“Lied?” Spock questioned defensively. “I merely stated that Vulcans do not find them fascinating. I did not say that I would not enjoy repaying you in kind for what you did to me.”

“You green-blooded…”

“Jim, please do not descend to Doctor McCoy’s level of epithets. That is unbecoming of your rank.”

“ _His_ level…? wait’ll you hear…”

But then before Kirk could complete his retort, Spock's kiss interrupted him. They kissed long and deep, until finally Spock released his captive.

And as soon as he did, Kirk took him by the shoulders and rolled him underneath once more. Now he smiled down into his own captive’s face. “And you said you were going to torture me – made me sweat a little, didn’t you?”

Spock's brow raised. “I said nothing of torture. I said there were certain areas of the human anatomy which are very sensitive. Was I correct, Admiral?”

Kirk smiled a very satisfied smile. “You were indeed correct, Captain.”

“And do you promise to leave my ears alone from now on?”

Kirk’s smile turned enigmatic. “I promise nothing. If one does not make promises, one need not worry about breaking them, am _I_ correct, Mister Spock?”

Vulcan lips sighed a resigned sigh. “You are correct, Admiral.” And then Vulcan hands reached beneath their skirts to caress lightly, and the Vulcan first-officer asserted peremptorily, “And now I wish to take my release very shortly, so if you choose to eat dinner before we retire for the night, I suggest you do so now.”

Enigmatic smile again. “I’d rather eat you.”

“I am aware of that. However, dinner would prove far more efficacious for you.”

Teasing lick to thin alien lips. “More efficacious perhaps… but not nearly as sweet.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whip-stroke of fire across naked shoulders. A surprised cry broke from Kirk’s lips. He looked around himself. Now what was happening to him? he was wide awake, and he knew who he was, there was no doubt about it, he was not asleep, this was no dream. He was fully conscious.  
> And he was inside a Vulcan shrine, stripped and kneeling before a Vulcan altar and the Vulcan High Priestess T’Lar.

_I stand before the temple entryway. Cool mist wafts about me as the fog tendrils from the conifer rain-forest encroach on the temple. The soft tinkling of wind-chimes drifts on the air. Perfume of flowers seeps into my nose and mouth. My thin linen robe clings damply to my body, absorbing moisture from the drizzle._

_I kneel in front of Master T’Lar. In both hands she holds the chalice._

_“Student,” the ancient matriarch pronounces once again. “What is the Absolute?”_

_I smell the spice in the cup, I feel the priestess’ calm authoritative presence before me, her small elderly form garbed in scintillating white vestment._

_Now the words which have evaded my mind before, come freely to my lips. “The Absolute is Totality, greater than the sum of its parts. It is the Cosmic Aether out of which all matter is formed, as well as the Self-conscious and directing Personality which forms. It is the Creating Force, the Creative Process, and the Created Form: the triune reality of the Infinite.”_

_T’Lar neither agrees nor disagrees, neither approves nor disapproves. I remain kneeling, to arise only upon her order._

_T’Lar speaks._

_“And now, disciple, define thy individuality.”_

_The answers flow from my lips; my mind no longer befogged by uncertainty._

_“My individualization is a set of interrelated points on the continuum of Totality – solid, liquid, gaseous, mental, etheric, and spiritual. It is a fluidic set, changing as my understanding increases, evolving as I ascend through finer levels of existence. And even as I am but a fraction of the Absolute, so also do I contain the embryonic potentiality of Totality._

_T’Lar watches me, I feel her gaze, her warm shimmering aura humming about me. I can smell the drizzle in the air, the rain-wet vegetation, the damp earth. Still the temple chimes waft sweet gentle bell-tones into the aether. Now I hear the quiet chant of the priests inside the shrine, in mantrasmatic quality soothing and lulling. T’Lar will decide if my answers have sufficed. She will decide if I am to be allowed within._

_The aged priestess speaks again._

_“Student, thou hast chosen life-bonding.”_

_I feel nascent oneness stirring in my soul. “I am processing unification, Master,” I reply. “I have not yet completed.”_

_“Drink, student, if thou canst.” And once more she holds forth the goblet of sun’s-blood. “Thou shalt drink of the chalice to the level of thy unification.”_

_I take the silver chalice, breathe deeply of the marash’ti liquor. Spice vapors fill my nostrils, my lungs, permeate my blood, my flesh. The liquid gold shimmers in the cup. I touch the rim to my lips, take a swallow of the sacred drink. The sweet spicy liquid gently stings my tongue, runs down my throat. I feel its warmth absorb into my flesh, into my brain, into my soul. I take another swallow and another._

_But now the liquor burns me, burns like sun’s fire. I cannot finish. I am not totally unified. I lift the chalice back to the priestess while the searing heat brings tears to my eyes._

_T’Lar takes the cup. “Thou hast initiated union. It shall not be completed until Pon Farr is consummated. Arise and enter the temple, student.”_

_The doors open and T’Lar enters the shrine. I follow. The masonry floor is hard and cold beneath my sandaled feet. Inside the room the air is cool and dry, although I can still smell the rain scent from outside. At the far end of the room twelve priests in two parallel lines of six, one behind the other, kneel before the altar chanting. They do not take notice of us. On the altar lies the Anah’ad, the Sacred text, and on either side of the book stand the two ancient hand-stones, the hierometriki, with their incised glyphs nearly worn smooth now through the rituals of five-thousand years. To the left of the altar sits the flaming brazier of Sacred fire; to the right, the gold laver of Purification._

_T’Lar bids me kneel behind the priests, then she ascends the two low steps to the altar. In the center of the table before the Anah’ad, she places the chalice of sun’s-blood. The liquid gold nectar trembles at the goblet’s brim._

_Now she joins in the chant, the ancient syllables harmoniously resonating with the Primal Energy. I feel it in my bowels, feel it spread upward through the resonating centres of my body, feel the infinity of the Absolute existing in its entirety in this one point of Reality, which is my own individualization._

_“Sh’undala!” A sharp word from T’Lar crisply interrupts the chant. Then she calls to me. “Student, come forth. Approach the altar.”_

_I obey, stepping before the front line of priests, my back toward them, my face to T’Lar and the altar. T'Lar watches me with alert serious eyes. I sense their prismatic energy. And over the image of the thin bone-brittle aged priestess standing before the altar in all her authority and with all her presence, I see, as though an over-vision, a firebird holding my being with hypnotic stare. I can feel the bird’s ashen heat radiate against my exposed skin._

_“Remove thy robe,” she commands, and I obey. The damp cloth drops to the flagstones, and I stand before the high-priestess, naked. And she studies my body, and she studies my soul; then moving over to the golden basin beside the altar, she dips a cup into the sacred Life-water, then returns in front of me. “Kneel, student,” she directs._

_I kneel, head bowed, arms hanging loosely at my sides._

_“Thou hast accomplished the first step, student,” she announces. “Thou has entered the temple. Now thou must learn unification of body and mind and spirit, under the control of the Self. Not submergence, but understanding and control. Art thou prepared to commence?”_

_A single nod of head. “I am, Master T’Lar.”_

_She raises the cup of water over my head, pours it down over me. Its cold wetness purifies me, runs down my scalp, my face, my shoulders, my chest, my back and –_  
~ ~ ~

– pain seared a stripe across Jim Kirk’s back. A surprised cry broke from his lips.

Another whip-stroke of fire across naked shoulders. Another cry.

He looked around himself. Now what was happening to him? he was wide awake, and he knew who he was, there was no doubt about it, he was not asleep, this was no dream. He was fully conscious.

And he was inside a Vulcan shrine, stripped and kneeling before a Vulcan altar and the Vulcan High Priestess T’Lar.

Another lashing across tender flesh.

Again Kirk cried out in pain, and now a little anger as well. Head snapped around to catch his attacker.

There was no attacker behind him. Just the twelve priests kneeling in two parallel lines of six, facing T’Lar, chanting their mantrasmatic syllables again.

Just the priests –

– and Spock kneeling beside Kirk, to Kirk’s left, stripped nude just like Kirk. He was not looking at Kirk, but instead his eyes were closed in singular concentration.

“Spock!” Kirk tried to call to him, but no sound came out, _oh dear god, was it like that again?_... Another venture into the shadow world; he felt the lack of orientation quite discernibly, quite disturbingly…

Another whip-lash… _damn, that hurt!_ Neither Spock nor T’Lar looked at him – both, eyes closed, lost in meditation.

Another. _Damn!_ He winced; the blows rocked him on his knees. Another. A sharp gasp. Dream or not, the stinging pain was damn real… Spock had said there would be pain – but why now? why like this? what could this possibly have to do with their life-bonding?... _Spock, help me!_...

With each blow the pain grew worse. He fell forward onto his hands, his elbows… He had seen Spock scourged – was this the same thing happening to him now? what did it mean?... _Spock!…_ he called out again, if only in his thoughts… _dammit, help me, Spock!_...

… _Jim, concentrate on your third eye, as I told you… concentrate_ …

Deep within his mind Kirk heard Spock's voice quite clearly and distinctly. Abruptly he glanced up at his partner kneeling beside him to see if Spock had spoken aloud.

But the Vulcan beside him was deep inside himself, concentration focussed on some point far within.

– _ohh! damn!_ –

… _concentrate, Jim… I warned you that there would be pain… but only if you allow it to control you… you must control it… concentrate on your third eye… know that there is no pain_ …

– and once more Kirk felt the sensation of the touch of a Vulcan finger, between his eyebrows, felt that finger slide effortlessly inside his skull, inside his brain, touch a point in the center of his brain and nudge something awake.

He concentrated on that pinpoint of sensation, concentrated on Spock, concentrated on his own self-control. He could feel blood and sweat on his back, the stinging cuts, and yet he suspected that if he saw his back right now, there would be no wounds. The pain was only being mentally induced, _but why? why?... why was he being tortured like this?_...

… _concentrate, Jim, do not lose your concentration… you are not being tortured… a level of your own mind has been reached, a level which creates and accepts pain… you must conquer it, you must control it, to continue with our unification_ …

… _easy enough said_ , Kirk thought glumly…

– _student Kirk! hear and obey!_ –

– a voice of command-authority sliced through Kirk’s scramble of thoughts, powerful enough to make his mind snap to attention, as though the Commander of Starfleet himself had just barked an order; he glanced up sharply at the elderly woman standing before the altar, facing him, eyes closed; her command-presence far belying her frail appearance –

… _student-Kirk, we realize thou art not a disciple, this is not easy for thee, thy mind is not trained… but thou hast chosen to life-bond with thy friend, and to do so, thou must surmount this barrier in thine own self… we are assisting thee as much as we are allowed, but thou must find the answer within thyself… call upon thine own power, student-Kirk_ …

…Kirk called upon his own knowledge and power; he remembered some of his training which dealt with stress-control and pain-control – the secret, he’d been taught, was to turn the mind away with disinterest, no matter how much the mind wanted to concentrate on the pain… _turn away… turn away… not care if the pain exists or not… turn away_ …

Still the pain seared him, made him wince… _turn away… think of Spock, think of T’Lar, offering their support to his consciousness_ … and he could feel their power beneath him, he could feel it… he concentrated on that, allowed the pain to exist or not… _neither option matters… just Spock… Spock_ …

The pain diminished… and then he realized it was gone… and that was all right too.

… _student-Kirk thou dost comprehend_ …

T’Lar’s voice filled his consciousness the instant he released the pain – she knew… she knew…

… _thou hast not yet mastered pain, but thou dost understand the concepts… thou shalt drink of the chalice_ …

– and then from the altar she took the chalice and a ceremonial dagger; she handed the dagger to Spock –

… and in sudden realization and shock, Kirk’s mind replayed the previous shadow-dream of Spock's scourged back and Spock's sliced wrist, and Spock drinking his own blood – that hadn't been a hallucination after all, it had really happened, and now it was really happening to Kirk…

… with his free hand, Spock took Kirk’s left hand, palm up, wrist bared, put the knife-edge to the surface vein – automatically Kirk tried to pull away, but once more a light sleep-paralysis interrupted his motor functions – and all Kirk could do was kneel there mutely and allow Spock to slice his wrist, he felt the stinging pain, and yet not quite like real pain; then Spock held the wound over the chalice of nectar which Master T’Lar held out, so that Kirk’s blood would trickle into the golden mead…

… and locked in paralysis, Kirk watched his own life-fluid drip dark red spots into the sun’s-blood, gradually dissipating to turn the golden liquor orange… he was losing his fluid and he couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t stop it…

… then Spock released Kirk’s hand, and T’Lar lifted the chalice to Kirk’s lips…

… _drink, student-Kirk_ …

… and he drank – there was no possibility of ignoring or refusing her command – and he tasted blood-iron, metallic undertaste beneath the spice flavor, the fiery liquor ran down his throat and he tasted his own blood, hot and metallic, he drank his own blood –

– then T’Lar withdrew the chalice from his lips, and lifting it up, poured the rest of the liquid over Kirk’s head and shoulders… he felt it icy and cold on his naked skin, felt it run down his hair, his face, his chest, the channel of his spine, his thighs, his groin –

– and then warmth in his bowels, rising and spreading up and out through his belly, his chest, his limbs, growing hotter and hotter, liquid flame racing along his nerves and blood vessels, fire absorbing his very cells, until he imagined he might very well burst into a blazing human torch –

– and yet the pain felt strange, muted, an odd tingle, a psychic sensation, the likes of which he’d never experienced before – it did not really feel like real pain, through he couldn’t be sure how much was actually his sensation and how much was being manipulated by the Vulcans – he could still sense Spock's and T’Lar’s consciousnesses reinforcing his own –

– he did not know how much of the whole episode was real anyway, and how much dream-mist; he didn’t understand the significance, the depth of meaning behind it all – unlike Spock, he was not trained in Vulcan mysticism, nor for that matter in Terran mysticism – but he had arbitrarily chosen to participate in this occult rite, so for whatever was asked of him, he would comply –

And then again, like once before, concussion crushed him, explosion of light blinded; and he cried out for Spock, he reached out frantic seeking hands for his Vulcan friend –  
~ ~ ~

Hands clutched other hands, grasped tightly, seeking reassurance, seeking comfort, adrenalin pumped in hot blood, trembling muscles, pounding heart.

“Wake up, Jim, it is all right,” the Vulcan’s deep soothing voice quieted, comforted. “Wake up. It’s over for now.”

Kirk’s eyes snapped open, for a moment disoriented and confused. Then he realized he was awake face-down on the bed in Spock’s quarters, cheek pressed to the pillow, breath shuddering, shallow, arrhythmic in his throat, skin slick with sweat.

Spock had already disengaged from their night’s consummation, and now sat on the edge of the bed beside Kirk, his nude body close enough to touch Kirk’s recumbent form; holding his hand, fingers caressing fingers.

For the moment Kirk just lay there, catching his breath, assuring himself that he was indeed back in the solid real world. One hand gripped Spock's; the other clutched a fistful of bedsheet. Then finally, gradually, he relaxed, let go of the crumpled sheet, and lifted his groggy head toward the Vulcan. A simple expression of shock escaped his lips:

“My god, Spock!”

Spock's fingers loosened their grip, stroked comfortingly, as he soothed again, “It is all right… I am sorry that the experience caused you disturbance…”

“Scared the hell out of me is more like it,” Kirk admitted, then echoed himself, “My god, Spock…” Stiffly he rolled over onto his back, propped himself up on his elbows, finally managed to focus alert eyes on his friend. “Spock,” he asked directly, “tell me the truth, does it get any worse than that? My god, I never expected anything like that when I agreed to participate in this with you.”

Spock still sat beside him, eyes watching his human friend with protective love and care. “I deeply apologize, Jim. I have no desire to cause you the least anxiety. I certainly do not wish to anger you.”

“I’m not angry, Spock, but it’s way past the point of causing me the least anxiety,” Kirk admitted frankly, although not accusingly. “I’m mainly just asking if there’s a way you could prepare me for these little psychic surprises ahead of time.”

Spock's gentle fingers stroked Kirk’s hair. “I am sorry, Jim, but I myself do not know how Master T’Lar is guiding us. Because you are untrained, this is unlike my previous bonding-ritual with my wife.”

“Well, then, I apologize too, Spock. I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from completing this ritual normally.”

“That is unavoidable,” Spock responded with no more accusatory tone than Kirk a moment before.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk called Sickbay shortly after 08:00 hours, after he’d showered, shaved, and dressed, just like he’d promised the doctor, since McCoy seemed anxious each day to assure himself that all in regard to Spock's Pon Farr was progressing smoothly. So Kirk was rather surprised when McCoy hardly had time to talk with him then, but quickly promised to get back to him later in the morning, as though he was eager to return to some vitally important work which the admiral’s call had interrupted.

“Len, wake up,” the woman’s voice burst over the intercom in McCoy’s cabin. “It’s Chris, Len. I’ve finished the tests now. I think you’ll be interested in the results.”

McCoy was half off the bed at Chapel’s first word. Before her last, he was out the door, dashing as fast as he could through the crowded corridor, boots in hand. Why the hell did the entire ship’s-complement always decide to move out into the hallways and set up housekeeping whenever he had an emergency to answer? And why the hell was everyone acting like it was already seven in the morning, when Chris had promised to wake him up a few hours after nineteen-hundred last night? for Chapel’s sake it had better be no later than midnight… except why were day-shift faces already populating the crammed corridors? god help her if she had tricked her CO into over-sleeping… she’d been getting more and more presumptuous ever since she’d returned to the Enterprise as a full-fledged MD five years before.

“What the hell time is it?” he snapped, bursting through the doorway into his office alongside Sickbay. The LED display on the wall answered him before Chapel could: 06:47 AM. Morning shift already. “All right,” he grouched, “what have you come up with?”

Chapel entered from the lab with a tray of food. “Well, good morning to you too, Doctor. I’d thought a good night’s sleep would improve your attitude. I guess I was wrong. Well, maybe breakfast will help.”

“Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

She fixed the tray in front of him, snatched a piece of fruit for herself. “Because I want you fresh and alert to spell me. I’ve been getting kind of groggy the last couple of hours. So hurry up, eat your breakfast, take your shower, and change your clothes – you look like you slept in them – then I’m going off-duty.”

“All right, Doctor Chapel, all right, you win,” McCoy conceded helplessly, pulling out a chair before his breakfast, “since you’re obviously not going to talk business until I eat. Y’know, I think I liked you better as a nurse – before you turned into a mother hen.”

Chapel ignored his gripes, swiping another apple-slice off the tray, then gathered up a shuffle of papers from the side-credenza. “Admit it, Len, what would you do without me? What this ship needs is a few less crabby superior officers and a few more mother hens. Between Uhura holding down the bridge, and Janice handling Engineering, and me running ragged to keep you your happy cheerful self, I dunno who’s got it worse.”

“Ship’d probably fall apart without you ladies,” McCoy admitted grudgingly. “Now, Mother Hen, what about the tests on Scotty’s blood?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Chapel pushed a sheaf of notes and computer print-outs in front of him. “Read these, Doctor McCoy, then tell me you love me.” And pointing to a paragraph of computer-print, she announced, “I’ve isolated an antibody that doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before – notice the computer’s analysis of the receptor cells.”

McCoy’s morning grouchiness had dissipated beneath the intense interest which now focussed his attention on the mass of scribbled figures and computer data. “What about these TTR readings?” he questioned. “They look different from what we’ve been seeing all the other cases. Are you sure they’re correct?”

“I doubled-checked the analyzer, then I even called poor Scotty back at two AM to stick him for another sample, just in case there was something strange with the first batch of blood, but the same answer kept coming up. But you may want to re-run them anyway.” Then pulling out a cluster of pages from the middle of the pile, she laid them on top. “I started some new tests, but I’m getting cross-eyed now, so I decided to wake you up and let you take over from here. I think we’re finally onto it.”

McCoy was reading the mass of information with entranced fascination. “Doctor Chapel, I love you.”

“I know you do. Just don’t let Gene hear you.”  
* * * * *

Kirk called Sickbay shortly after 08:00 hours, after he’d showered, shaved, and dressed, just like he’d promised the doctor, since McCoy seemed anxious each day to assure himself that all in regard to Spock's Pon Farr was progressing smoothly. So Kirk was rather surprised when McCoy hardly had time to talk with him then, but quickly promised to get back to him later in the morning, as though he was eager to return to some vitally important work which the admiral’s call had interrupted.

‘Later in the morning’ turned out to be close to 11:45, when a knock on Spock’s cabin door and a pronounced “Spock, Jim, it’s me,” announced the doctor’s presence. The door slid open, and McCoy fairly burst into the room, face eager and intense.

“We’re finally making progress with this damned bug,” he announced excitedly. “Scotty’s blood has built up antibodies – he’s the first person to have gotten the disease and recovered. Right now the lab is working on a vaccine, and if we’re lucky, maybe we can even figure out a cure before too long.”

Spock responded. “That sounds most promising.”

“It sounds like a miracle,” Kirk acknowledged. “When we get home, I’ll see to it that you get the credit due you.”

“The credit goes to Chris, Jim. She was up all night – she made the breakthrough… and to Scotty who donated the blood. Anyway, we should have the vaccine by the end of the day.”

Kirk hadn't seen such happiness or relief on his Chief Surgeon’s face for over a month now. It was a welcome change. “God, I hope you’re right, Bones,” he agreed. “Contact Starfleet, tell the Surgeon General what you’ve got. See if they’ll give you any hint as to when they’ll lift the quarantine.”

“It won’t be a day too soon,” McCoy commented; and Kirk couldn’t be sure if the physician was making a light-hearted remark regarding his own desires, or a serious statement about Starfleet’s customary deliberate caution.

Rising from his meditation position before the altar, Spock strolled closer to the other two men. “Has Mister Scott left any messages for us?” he inquired.

“Just yesterday’s duty-shift report. Everything’s running smoothly, no major disasters that the bridge can’t handle, no Romulan battle-cruisers on our tail. Oh, by the way, he did offer the crew’s concern for you both – they wondered if you two had come down with the virus. I assured him you were both all right.”

“Please convey our appreciation,” Spock replied. “We realize that it creates difficulties for the crew when both command officers are absent simultaneously.”

“And how are both command officers faring?”

“Adequately, Doctor. There are no problems of any consequence to report.”

“Well, let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Let’s do indeed,” Kirk agreed.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abruptly Kirk thrust up to the wall-intercom, punched up Sickbay. “Kirk to Sickbay, McCoy answer!” he called desperately.  
> “McCoy here, Jim, what’s wrong?” the doctor replied immediately.  
> Kirk could not control the anxiety in his voice. “Bones, get down here quick! Spock needs help!!”

“And how are both command officers faring?”

“Adequately, Doctor. There are no problems of any consequence to report.”

“Well, let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Let’s do indeed,” Kirk agreed.

* * * * *

Spock would like to have hoped that too, but he held no false expectation. Pon Farr was reaching its half-way point, and the emotion purgation was fast growing beyond control. He had attempted suppression and attenuation for as long as he could; now the ancient racial catharsis demanded fulfillment, and he had no illusions. It would be violent – more so, since he’d held it back, hidden from Kirk, deep beneath the surface. Humans did not understand… they could not.

Once more Spock knelt to meditate, once more he shut out everything from his consciousness except the temple bells and the spice incense and the soul of the human – his new bond-mate – lying on the bed behind him. He allowed himself to flow outward, through the denser realms of matter and thought, to the more refined realms, the rarified levels, to touch and unite with Master T'Lar and the priest Shen. For the last four Pon Farr experiences since his single unification with his childhood wife, Spock had only mated with Shen – not a perfect solution, but the only one open to this Vulcan male widowed so brutally by Romulan savagery.

… _how many years ago_ … _how very many years ago_ …

– so now, Shen, being the closest living soul to know Spock's most intimate passion-rage, guided Spock from afar through this new experience of mating with an untrained non-Vulcan. And now Pon Farr had become blood-mating, and now that untrained non-Vulcan was to bond eternally with a Vulcan male. The human did not know – could not know – what was to come… had never seen the full passion of the Vulcan unleashed… had never felt full-bond-resonance.

Now Pon Farr was half over. Spock felt his mental control finally slipping as the activated hormones now flooded into his bloodstream. Every day a little more difficult, every day a little closer to the savage loss of mental and physical control which always climaxed this physiologic rite of procreation. So far, he had been fighting acquiescence to the inevitable for Kirk’s sake – somehow it seem more humiliating, this reversion to animal passion, to let his commanding officer and closest friend see him thus abased, even though he had requested Kirk’s assistance, and even though he knew that Kirk’s respect for him would not waver a fraction, no matter how much passion he displayed.

Nevertheless, Spock did feel shame submitting to this each time, once every seven years, the loss of his proud discipline, the surrender to gross emotion, although he had told himself and continued to tell himself, that shame itself was an emotion, as was pride. However, that logical observation had not yet conquered the shame.

Spock was well aware that humans considered the sexual act to be exceedingly pleasurable, almost more pleasurable than any other activity they could possibly imagine. Spock guessed that perhaps mated Vulcans enjoyed it as well, sharing intimacies with a life-mate, conceiving offspring.

But for Spock there were no joyful intimacies, no offspring to conceive. He did receive tremendous physical pleasure and release, but only at the cost of the loss of control of mind and body, and a bitter reminder of one solitary time of beautiful intoxicated madness thirty-five years in the past, now lost forever, replaced by the wrenching pain of lonely widowhood. The price was far too high for the brief pleasure. He did not eagerly anticipate this septenary affliction.

But so far, all this he had hidden from Kirk, even during their sleep-melds, through what discipline remained him. He did not want Kirk to suffer, although suffering was to come for both of them. Spock almost desired pain for himself: momentarily it would overwhelm his shame and give the excess adrenalin a focus to work on. In fact, he had even requested Shen to direct his mind toward pain and corporal punishment deliberately, but Shen had reminded him that whatever he experienced, Kirk would too, and probably in a worse manner, as Kirk was not trained.

Spock did have to admit to himself now though, that Kirk’s presence was actually making this Pon Farr tolerable, perhaps even pleasant. What had started out as an emergency procedure was turning into a good experience, the best one since his first with her… _with her_ …

… _oh, T’Chal, I miss you… I love you_ …

… but he loved Jim too, and Jim loved him, and their sexual conjoinings so far had been very stimulating and satisfying – even exhilarating. In fact, they had even played together. He did want Jim for his life-mate, he did. Jim Kirk was the most important being in his life – Spock had not felt such desire for a mate in thirty-five years… _please forgive me, T’Chal… please allow me this happiness, my chalyss flower… grieving an eternity for you will never re-weave our severed bond, never bring you back to my arms… please, my love_ …

And Spock knelt before the altar; and Spock felt two tears leak from the corners of his eyes to trace down his sere tired fifty-six-year-old face… _this should not be… this should not be… tears are not proper, they are not necessary_ … Yet the unnecessary tears continued to streak down his cheeks, he felt profound weeping forcing its way up from his solar plexus, throat tightened down on helpless sobs, tight shoulders wanting to badly to tremble with grief… _please no… please… no… must relax… must relax… attune the mind with the serenities of the Masters… regain unity of mind, body, spirit… return to meditation… do not let emotion make a mockery out of the reality which is Spock… do not let it lessen the relation that was the life-bond between a man and a woman_ …

– that psychic death-scream… once again, her cry to him, more clearly now than he had remembered in all these years… he thought he was hearing it again, _could that be? no, she was dead… but that scream of terror, so alive, once more, after all these years… and the abject helplessness, to save his mate, to save their unborn child… their child_ …

Mental agony nearly drove the breath from his lungs. He could not control the tears now that flooded down his face, the sobs that shuddered his body…

… _why did he have to think of this now, after all these years, and in such praeternatural clarity? what was the purpose now in reliving the horror of thirty-five years ago? what purpose could it possibly serve to rack him and rip him apart, when it couldn’t possibly help her, dead these many years, and it couldn’t change anything for him… stop it… please… please stop it!... please do not do this to me_ …

But the images came, and came… overwhelmed whatever little control he had left… that psychic cry for help from his mate, spanning light-years from Vulcan to Earth, when Romulans had captured the small Vulcan shuttlecraft and taken its only passenger as a prisoner: a beautiful Vulcan girl, scarcely a woman – quite a prize to be taken back to Romulus. Her terror had cried out for her mate; but the twenty-one-year-old Starfleet cadet, an impossible distance away, could do nothing but send what mental support he could to uphold her, while he psychically shared her terror, seeing the faces of her Romulan captors, feeling their hands upon her body, the coldness of their weapons, then the alien organs which violated her, savaged her time and again; until at last, finally, she had been able to snatch away a dagger and plunge it into her heart, depriving her captors of any more amusement, but as well depriving her mate of their eternity through her suicide… and the abrupt severance of the life-link had plunged Spock into a black icy void of madness and rage and soul-wrenching grief, from which ultimately only Master T’Lar had been able to extricate him.

… _and now, once again, that void absorbs him, madness rips him open, blinding anger burns his ravaged mind, savage remorse tortures him beyond endurance… and he cries out for T’Chal, for T’Lar, from this dimensionless nothingness… he cries, he begs for vengeance, for release, for peace_ …

Hands reached for him, took his shoulders; the concerned voice of his human friend: “Spock, what’s wrong? Spock! talk to me! Spock, please!”

– _he cannot talk, massive grief batters him, smothers him, he screams, he cries, he writhes on the floor in agony, ripped open_ … _help me… please help me… please…!_

Kirk thrust up to the wall-intercom, punched up Sickbay. “Kirk to Sickbay, McCoy answer!” he called.

“McCoy here, Jim, what’s wrong?” the doctor replied immediately.

Kirk could not control the anxiety in his voice. “Bones, get down here quick! Spock needs help!”

“Be right there.”

Returning quickly to Spock huddled on the floor, torn apart by some bereavement unknown to Kirk, Kirk knelt beside him, pulled the grieving Vulcan onto his lap, hugged Spock's head tight to his chest, and let him cry, just let him cry against the thin silk of Kirk’s blouse; and Kirk hugged his friend as tightly as he could, cheek resting on Spock's hair, Kirk’s own eyes squeezed shut, leaking sympathetic tears. He didn’t know what else to do.

The door slid open and McCoy strode in, medi-kit in hand. Dropping to his knees beside the huddled pair, he ran a quick scanner reading of both men, then gently took Spock's head to look more carefully at his face. Spock's sobbing eyes did not open.

Kirk’s own teary gaze focussed on the doctor. “Help him, Bones, “ he begged. “For godsake, help him!”

“What’s wrong with him, Jim?” the physician questioned. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. He was meditating, then suddenly he just went into convulsions. Bones, I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Neither have I.”

“Please, Bones, can’t you help him? give him a sedative or something? Something is just killing him, eating him alive inside! Please help him!”

McCoy still held Spock's head; Spock continued to writhe in the doctor’s and Kirk’s hands. “Jim,” McCoy cautioned, ‘I’m not sure it’s safe to give him anything. If this is part of his emotional release, then I’m not sure we should interfere. Remember what he said – that any attempt to regulate the process would kill him. Jim, I admit, my medical knowledge is pretty useless right now. I don’t know much about Pon Farr. I don’t know what’s happening to him.”

“Except that he’s out of his head with anguish!”

“Jim, please…”

A sudden abrupt shudder raked through Spock's body; he cried out in mortal pain.

“Bones, please…!”

McCoy frowned in his own pain, hesitated, then opened his medi-kit and withdrew a hypo-spray.

“Please, Bones…” Kirk urged. “Even just a light dose – anything to ease his pain… even just a little…”

McCoy fitted a drug capsule into the syringe.

“ _STUDENT-KIRK!_ ”

Abruptly a massive power-bolt from the aether struck Kirk dead-center in his brain. He thought that the world had exploded about him; he reeled with the psychic blow.

“ _STUDENT-KIRK, HEAR AND OBEY!_ ”

Instantly he reached out a hand to prevent McCoy’s injection of Spock, but something had already stopped McCoy cold in his own tracks. He was staring at Kirk in blank surprise; Kirk was staring up into nothingness.

“T’Lar!” Kirk cried aloud into the incense-saturated air. “Master T’Lar!”

… _Student-Kirk, do not interfere… to interfere will cause Spock's death_ …

“Then you help him, T’Lar!” Kirk insisted, in a tone less humble than Spock's to the Vulcan high-priestess, but a lack of humility induced by his frenzy over Spock's anguish. “Help him, T’Lar! Spock is in agony! Please help him!”

… _student-Kirk, hear us!... thou art joining in unity with a Vulcan… thou shalt comport thyself as one worthy of such a union_ …

… _oh god, who cares about that now?_... tears blinded Kirk’s eyes… _just help Spock!_...

Commanding presence overwhelmed Kirk. Obeisantly his head bowed, face buried against Spock's shoulder, in the thick folds of Spock's robe; his breath quickened as T’Lar’s thoughts spoke directly to his mind…

… _Spock must fight through this on his own if he is to live… the purgation must occur unhindered… old bonds are being purified and dissolved, new bonds are being purified and set… this process must not be interrupted… he is bonding with thee, student-Kirk, for eternity… dost thou wish eternal bonding with Spock, son of Sarek?_...

… _yes… oh yes_ … And Kirk didn’t know any longer if he actually spoke aloud or just responded deep inside his mind… _yes, please yes_ …

… _then ye both shall pass through the fires of sanctification, ye shall both be cleansed_ …

… _but his pain is unbearable, Master, please, won’t you ease it, or allow me to?... please Master T’Lar… I’m begging you_ …

… _do not judge his pain by human standards, student-Kirk… and do not judge a Vulcan as a human… this is the Pon Farr which he must endure, to life or death… an old life-bond, once holy but partially severed years ago, torments him once again now that he is creating a new life-bond with thee… and that severance must now be completed for him to find peace… and thou canst not help him, student-Kirk_ …

And then, as abruptly as it had descended, the Master’s presence dissipated; and Kirk collapsed trembling against Spock still half in his lap, nearly drained of energy. For a long unmeasured lapse of time, Kirk felt himself floating helplessly on the edge of incorporeality, until a very corporeal presence with a very corporeal Georgia accent demanded,

“Jeezusgod, what the hell was that?”

Kirk roused, focussed eyes on his ship’s-medic hovering anxiously over him and Spock. The Vulcan now lay quietly in Kirk’s arms, not fully conscious but no longer wrestling against heart-wrenching pain.

“Bones…” Kirk murmured quickly, “you didn’t give Spock anything, did you?”

“No,” the doctor insisted quite firmly. “But what in hell…”

“Bones, did you see her? did you hear her?”

“I didn’t see or hear anything… except you… but something sure in hell was going on…” Heavily McCoy sat down on the floor beside his two friends. “Jim, you know I’ve got about as much psychic ability as a head of cabbage. But I’d swear there was something in the room with us just now. Who were you talking to, Jim? who’s Master T’Lar? did _you_ see somebody?”

Kirk shook his head. “I couldn’t see her, but she was here. T’Lar is the High Priestess of a Vulcan temple. She’s been helping Spock through this Pon Farr.” Aimlessly Kirk’s hand stroked Spock's sweat-damp hair. “She said this was just a part which he has to work through on his own… and we’re not to interfere with any of it.”

“My god…” McCoy breathed. “Is this what you two have been going through all week?”

“No, not so far… but Spock warned that it would become more and more intense and unpredictable as the week progressed… It started out with just physical… consummation… and light mind-melding, then it’s just been getting deeper and deeper every day…” Another tired shake of head, voice weary. “Bones… I’m not going to say that I regret accepting Spock's request to do this with him.. because that’s not true… But I’ll admit, it’s really draining everything out of me. I’m fast approaching mental overload… I’m under constant stress, mental and physical… and it’s getting stronger by the hour…”

“”Here…” McCoy urged, seated next to Kirk, reaching both hands to their Vulcan friend, “let me have him. You get out for awhile, go for a half-hour swim or something. I’ll watch Spock while you’re gone.” Carefully he maneuvered Spock's upper body onto his lap. Spock moaned slightly at the gentle disturbance, shifted a little in the doctor’s lap, hand starting to reach out. Gently McCoy grasped his fingers.

Kirk climbed stiffly to his feet. “I hate to leave him… Maybe I shouldn’t go...”

“Nonsense. If you stress out with a breakdown, you’ll be no good to him or anyone else. I’ll stay with him – if something comes up that you’re needed, I’ll give you a call. Now, go on, get out of here.”

Hesitantly Kirk looked down at the Vulcan in McCoy’s lap, hardly wanting to leave. McCoy indicated the cabin-door by a short jerk of his head and a humorless wink at Kirk. Kirk reached down to touch their half-sleeping friend. “Spock, I’m stepping out for a short break,” he announced. "I’ll be back soon, all right?”

A slight nod of Vulcan head, a short whisper on Vulcan lips: “Jim…”

Kirk looked at McCoy. “I think I’ll take you up on that swim. I’ll be on Pool Deck A if you need me.”

“He’ll be fine,” McCoy assured, and Kirk left.

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At 17:00 hours, Kirk would pick up a little dinner, then later the two of them would get down once again to the very serious business details of all-night brain-searing pleasure. Very nice business… very nice details – however, those kinds of details he was leaving out of his daily log report. Non-regulation. Definitely non-regulation. He smiled to himself. Each night had proven to be better than the previous one. And tonight Kirk might even suggest some new variations…

Spock stirred in supporting arms. Slowly he felt sanity returning through the fog of chaotic madness. The sudden surge of madness was gradually evaporating, breaking apart, drifting away. Sooner or later, before Pon Farr was over, it would return in some other form to torment him and tear his soul raw and wide-open, but for now it was gone. Now he felt very weak and very exhausted, as though all the energy in the cosmos had ripped through him to cleanse and purge one of the darkest, deepest levels of his soul. But for now the catharsis was over, the life-bond between him and T’Chal severed cleanly.

… _farewell, T’Chal… I shall think of thee always, when Vulcan stars are in the skies_ …

– after these many years, finally the pain of her memory alleviated… her suicide had destroyed their eternity so long ago; but Spock had chosen not to sever his link of their bond, but rather hold onto the pain of the psychic laceration as if in honor of the physical pain and mental humiliation which she had suffered so greatly, so greatly that she had chosen escape through suicide , knowing all the while that to do so would destroy her eternity with her mate… and he had held onto that, willingly suffering as she had suffered… but now it was time to release that, and create another vow of eternity with another living consciousness.

– _he was aware of hands holding him gently… Jim’s?... no, not Jim’s… he did not sense Jim in the room right now… McCoy’s… yes, it was the doctor holding him… it was not quite proper for the doctor to see him like this – that was for his mate alone, and even then he felt shame that Jim should have observed his loss of control – he must not express weakness to anyone but his partner… he really must get up… to be in the doctor’s arms was not appropriate, even though the human no doubt was attempting to convey human comfort and sympathy… he really must get to his feet… he really must_ …

He tried to push himself up. Muscles weren’t responding quite as efficiently as he would have liked. Adrenalin quivering took over his body. The catharsis had drained away his physical strength as well as his mental strength.

“Spock,” McCoy greeted as Spock attempted to sit up, “are you all right now?”

“Yes, Doctor, I am well. Please… would you assist me to the bed?... I seem to lack some motor control at the moment.”

“Sure, Spock, c’mon.” And sliding an arm around behind the Vulcan, McCoy got them both on their feet, then supported Spock the four steps to the bed. Weakly Spock sat on the edge of the bed, then McCoy helped him lie down, swung his legs up, then straightened his robe to cover him properly.

Then pulling a chair over to the head of the bed, McCoy sat beside him. The Vulcan looked paler than usual, skin sweaty, eyes still a little dazed. The medic’s practiced eye watched for signs of shock.

Spock’s gaze shifted around the cabin. “Where is Jim?” he inquired.

“He stepped out for a few minutes… he was pretty distressed over… what just happened.” McCoy’s hand reached for Spock’s forehead, felt slight fever over and above the Vulcan’s normally high body temperature. “He’ll be back in about five minutes. How are you holding up?”

A slight nod. “I am maintaining… equilibrium.” Gaze lifted to McCoy’s face… a hesitant question: “Doctor… did you observe my… irrational behavior?”

McCoy shrugged gently. “A little. It doesn’t matter, Spock. Jim was worried, he called me to come… wanted me to give you a sedative… But don’t worry – ” he assured Spock's sudden troubled expression – “I didn’t give you anything.” Comfortingly he stroked Spock's warm brow. “Spock, I wish you’d let me help. You know I’ll keep it in the strictest confidence.”

“Your confidence is deeply appreciated, Doctor, as is your concern. However, it is impossible for you to help me through this. I am not suffering from an illness – it is a natural hormonal change which occurs for every Vulcan… I admit that this particular time is proving more… difficult than usual… but it is not something which your medical knowledge can assist.”

McCoy’s face creased with sympathetic hurt. “I just wish I could ease your pain. I know you’re suffering. I’m not a specialist in Vulcan medicine, but surely with what knowledge I do have…”

“It is not enough, Doctor… nor is it the correct solution of choice…” Spock's tired eyes gazed up unfocussed. “As a doctor, your desire is to alleviate pain and suffering… but you must realize too that sometimes there is an appropriate need for pain and suffering, and the individual must be allowed his own struggle if he is to gain maturation and the strength to survive.”

A resigned smile pulled at McCoy’s lips. “You’re right, of course, Spock.”

“… besides, my own people are assisting me now, in what manner they can.”

“Spock,” – and the doctor’s voice was gentle – “we’re your people too.”

“Yes,” Spock agreed, “and you are helping me most effectively just by sitting here with me, Doctor.”

McCoy smiled a truer smile. “Sometimes, that’s just what the doctor ordered.” His comforting hand stroked the Vulcan’s sweaty face, damp hair.

The door buzzer hummed, then Kirk entered again, looking a little more alert and refreshed than when he’d left. “How’s Spock?” he inquired.

McCoy arose from his chair. “He’s stabilized. How are you?”

“Better.” Kirk sat on the edge of the bed, eyes studying his partner. The Vulcan returned his gaze steadily. A little smile tugged at Kirk’s lips. “You gave us a scare there for a minute. How do you feel?”

Dark eyes watched him. “I too am better.”

McCoy returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth which he handed to Kirk. Gently Kirk wiped the sweat from the Vulcan’s warm face.

“Is it over now, Spock?” the medic inquired, “whatever was hurting you just now?”

“It is over for now, Doctor, although there will be more to come… I trust you will once again refrain from giving me any sedatives when that occurs?”

“Of course, Spock. But if you need any… moral support, you or Jim, just call me anytime, day or night, and I’ll come.”

Spock nodded feebly in acknowledgement, then asked of him, “Doctor McCoy, may I request privacy now for Jim and myself?”

“Of course,” the doctor complied. “I’ll see you both later.” A touch to Kirk’s shoulder, then he vanished out the door.

Kirk watched after him. The doctor had lately been pressured to do a lot of polite vanishing in the past few days. When this was all over, Kirk would see to it that Bones received some kind of personal compensation.

Then turning his attention back to Spock, he smiled a quiet smile. “Spock,” he entreated, “please forgive me for deserting you just now… McCoy insisted I take a break.”

“That is acceptable,” Spock agreed. “We are each dealing with these occurrences as best we can in our own characteristic manners.” And then the Vulcan’s expression changed ever so subtly, a little calmer, a little more open, as he watched the human, and he requested, “Would you please lie with me now, Jim? I feel the need… to be close to you, if I may…”

“Of course, Spock. Just ask whenever you want me.” And lying down beside his friend, Kirk let Spock gather him in a hug, while human lips found a spot on the side of a Vulcan neck to explore, just below the ear.

Spock allowed himself the emotional luxury of enjoying the pleasure that danced through him now. This was all so new to him still, and greatly desired. To truly enjoy union – he had never believed that he would ever again experience such pleasure. Going through the process with Shen was not the same thing: it was functional, procedural – although, yes, he reached blinding heights of orgasm – and very practical, as Shen would expertly milk the semen from him the first night for preservation, then join with him for the continuity of the next six days and nights. And he and Shen could easily reach spiritual depths to which Kirk had not yet opened up. But Spock did not love Shen – and he did love Kirk. And the depths which he and Kirk were reaching were different aspects of that being called Spock, not explored in countless ages of time, not since… the loss of his flower, T’Chal.

A twinge remained where her memory resided in his soul, but at least the terrible brain-wracking agony had dissipated. After thirty-five years, he had finally chosen to sever his half of the life-bond… and it was time to do so.  
* * * * *

They did not dream that night, for which Kirk was more than grateful. Finally he’d been able to sleep restfully. They still conjoined physically and mentally, but whatever psychic level had needed to be reached that day, had evidently been taken care of by the afternoon’s incident. Beyond that, the evening and night had been most uneventful, except of course for their love-play which seemed to Kirk to be the warmest, most exciting intercourse they had experienced so far.

Marriage: for once in his life, the idea pleasingly satisfied him.

For fifty-five years he had enjoyed his bachelor status. A couple of times in the past he’d considered changing that, but never did – partly because of choice, and partly because of job responsibilities – a starship commander had room for only one female in his life, and that one demanded absolute intimacy and absolute loyalty from her husband / father / slave.

But if he had never really expected to join in matrimony with a woman of his own kind, he sure in hell never expected to now be uniting in life-bonding with a half-human half-non-Terran male who just happened to be his sub-commander. And he really did not want to face the concern just yet of how they intended to break the news to their respective families… and the crew. Not to mention Starfleet.  
* * * * *

The fifth day of Spock's Pon Farr passed rather uneventfully, at least for Kirk. Spock spent all morning in a deep meditative trance, sometimes exhibiting distress, moments of pain, twice succumbing to brutal attacks of sobbing and near-convulsions. Now Kirk did not call for McCoy, but rather got down on the floor with the Vulcan, knelt beside his tortured body, held him and just loved him. The increasing depth of their sleep-melds had opened a resonance between them so that they no longer even need to be physically connected in a meld to sense each other’s mind. Kirk could feel Spock's pain as the Vulcan lay in his arms, and it caused pain in his own breast. He did not attempt to interrupt it, but did try to send loving soothing thoughts through the resonance, and after awhile, Spock settled down and slept in Kirk’s arms, and Kirk stayed there with him until he regained consciousness and returned to his meditation.

Now the chronometer on the bedside table read 16:23. Spock was once again meditating quietly, kneeling before the altar, and Kirk was sitting on the bed half-napping, and half-going over some reports which Scott had sent via McCoy. At 17:00 hours, Kirk would pick up a little dinner, then later the two of them would get down once again to the very serious business details of all-night brain-searing pleasure. Very nice business… very nice details – however, those kinds of details he was leaving out of his daily log report. Non-regulation. Definitely non-regulation. He smiled to himself, eyes scanning the Vulcan’s back. Each night had proven to be better than the previous one – so that promised a hell of a lot for tonight. And Kirk might even suggest some new variations…

Sharply the klaxon-scream of battle-stations ripped his contemplation. _Oh god no_. Reflex adrenalin exploded in his veins… _what the hell_ … He dived off the bed, punched the intercom button. “Bridge, this is Kirk. What’s going on?”

No answer. He had to get up there. He wrestled into his clothes, grabbed his boots. Romulans. Had to be a Romulan attack. Goddamn, they’d been lucky so far. Sitting dead on the edge of Romulan territory for over a month and no sign of any Romulan vessel within scanner range all that time. Until now. _Damn_. Had to be Romulan… _oh god, if this had happened in the middle of the night_ …

Running bodies filled the corridors. Kirk pushed through them to the nearest turbo-lift, not even stopping to notice if Spock was behind him. “Bridge,” he ordered the elevator computer, then punched the intercom button. “Kirk to bridge! What’s happening up there? Bridge, answer!”

But only static answered him. The gentle vibration of the elevator displacing him from officers’-quarters-deck to the bridge registered on his body.

“Bridge, this is the captain!” Kirk called again. “Respond!”

Passionless white noise. _What the hell_ …

The turbo-lift doors opened onto the bridge. Kirk took one step out – “Will somebody please tell me…” – and stopped dead-cold in his tracks.

A half-dozen Klingons populated the bridge. There was no sign of his own crew.

Kirk’s heart lurched. This made no sense at all. Where the hell could they have come from? and why hadn’t anyone seen them coming? and why the hell hadn't Kirk been notified?...

And then his own command chair swung toward him with its new occupant, and Kirk almost lost all bodily control at sight of the alien face.

Commander Krugh.

 _  
to be continued_ …


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small cry of terror burst from Kirk’s lips, he felt his throat constrict, felt his mouth drop open in horrified shock… oh dear god…  
> Hysterical panic clutched the pit of his stomach icily; old phantoms raked through his brain once again. Command presence deserted him abruptly, replaced by abject gut-wrenching irrational terror as he stared at the man who had perpetrated such obscene torture upon his body three years before.
> 
> Notes: This chapter in particular refers to events from my previous stories, “The Medicine of Life” and “The Balm of Love”.

_Krugh_...

A small cry of terror burst from Kirk’s lips, he felt his throat constrict, felt his mouth drop open in horrified shock… _oh dear god_ …

Hysterical panic clutched the pit of his stomach icily; old phantoms of a vicious rape raked through his brain once again. Command presence deserted him abruptly, replaced by abject gut-wrenching irrational terror as he stared at the man who had perpetrated such obscene torture upon his body three years before.

The Klingons were watching him with self-satisfied expressions of victory.

And all Kirk could do was stand there dumbly and gawk at the mind-numbing horror: the Enterprise finally fallen captive to the one man in the galaxy who terrified her captain. The two worst fears Kirk knew, now realized in stark reality: loss of his ship and crew, and his own bodily re-capture by Commander Krugh… _oh dear god help_ … _god help_ …

– Except that Krugh was already dead, so how could this be? Three years before, after rescuing Kirk, Spock, and McCoy from Klingon confinement, the Enterprise had blown the cruiser Kh’ardath to hell. Krugh and all his crew had been transformed into interstellar debris, and Kirk didn’t believe in ghosts.

Yet Krugh sat here now, looking far more solid than any ghost. “Admiral Kirk,” the Klingon gutturals rasping his name; the Klingon face calm, impassive. “Come down here and surrender. Come down here, Kirk… and grovel on your face again…”

Uncontrolled trembling of rage as well as fear seized Kirk bodily… _no god no_ …

He wheeled back toward the turbo-shaft doors, expecting them to open for him, but traitorously they remained shut. _Damn!_ He had to get back to Spock – where was Spock? why wasn’t he behind him? He couldn’t allow himself to be taken prisoner again. He couldn’t live through another time like before… _if they raped him again, he’d kill himself… he couldn’t stand the thought of submitting to that again… he couldn’t stand it…_ He needed to beat a quick retreat before the Klingon soldiers rushed him, and he had to get to Spock and hope to hell the Vulcan still had enough mental alertness left to function in an emergency situation.

But the doors stubbornly refused to budge. _Damn them! Had to get to Spock. Had to._

_Oh damn._

Sudden clarity illuminated his mind through the black thunderstorm of panic. Of course Krugh was dead. This wasn’t real. This was just another hallucination. He was probably still back in Spock's quarters at this very moment, asleep on the bed. If he closed his eyes and concentrated very hard, he’d wake up on the Vulcan’s bed. He closed his eyes.

A rough hand clamped on his shoulder and jerked him around. Eyelids flew open, and he found himself staring up into Krugh’s cold callous expression.

He almost screamed.

… _no, no, mustn’t lose control… mustn’t give in to panic… get ahold of yourself… Krugh is dead, he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead_ …

A dead man’s hand thrust roughly between his legs.

Kirk screamed.

He screamed and screamed as he felt himself dragged down to the deck, screamed for Spock, screamed for anyone to help him. Panic dragged him down into a black vortex.

… _don’t let this happen… get ahold get ahold… this isn’t real isn’t real… no matter what seems to be happening, it’s all in your mind, control… control_ …

In the blackness of surreal terror, he couldn’t see, but he could feel hands on him, the horrible scenario replaying in gruesome detail… scenes tumbled upon scenes… his face pushed down onto Krugh’s boot as he had been forced to grovel before the Klingon commander – if for no other reason, Kirk would have vowed revenge for that act alone, even if Krugh hadn't further degraded him to his final breaking point through brutal callous rape – he remembered a heavy hand rubbing his face shamefully on the filthy deck, dust and dirt in his mouth, the degradation of his own pride, in front of his men; the Klingons had deliberately abased him in front of his own men, never mind that neither Spock nor McCoy would think a fraction less of him because of this travesty, it had happened… and then the Klingons had beaten him savagely, stripped him naked, gagged and bound him, then transmitted an image of him like that to the Enterprise so that his entire crew would see their captain in that condition… the Klingons had done everything they could to strip his soul naked as well as his body, humiliate him beyond endurance.

And they had succeeded.

Now Kirk re-lived every moment of his humiliation, caught in this psychic void… _please no more, no more, somebody help me, somebody stop this please please please_ …

– he re-lived his agony in the chair, limbs bound to the chair arms and legs, his torturers inserting long needle electrodes into his joints, into nerve plexi, then pulsing erratic jolts of electricity through his nerves, catching him in violent brutal convulsions, spasms that wracked and wrenched his body in excruciating contractions, burned his nerves… and they had kept it up for unmeasured lengths of time while sweat drenched his body and he had screamed and screamed, screamed for help, screamed for Spock, and still they had kept it up … and Spock never came, he couldn’t come, locked in a cell with McCoy just a short distance away, close enough to hear his captain’s screams, yet an infinity away to be of any aid…

– and even now Kirk’s pain was once again so real, so very real… he was sweating, sobbing, screaming, every nerve in his body on fire… he couldn’t stand it any longer, he screamed as he had screamed once before, shrieked, screamed for Spock to help him as he had begged so many years ago…

… _god Spock help! help me! Sp–ock_ …!

And this time Spock answered him; through the resonance surged a power-flash of rage and anger white-hot as Kirk had never known his Vulcan. Violent wrath seething in Vulcan blood, as the three-year-old nightmare re-ran in absolute detail, and now Kirk realized fully what Spock had endured then, beyond his own physical torture… and what he was enduring now… the resonance completely open between them… half of Spock's two greatest fears: to be unable to protect his captain when the captain needed him most; it was his primary duty to protect his commanding officer, and he had failed that duty – and his love – that night of blackest horror when Kirk had screamed for him to come help, and he could not… To fail completely to protect the one man he had pledged his life to, was unforgivable…

– now Kirk felt the deepest of sorrows for the other man, and the deepest of shame for himself for losing control back then and begging for Spock at that time, when Spock could not obey… but the pain had been so bad and the terror had been so real…

– and the resonance bound their individual experiences together now… Kirk had never wanted Spock to know exactly what had happened to him that night… had never meant for Spock to learn the grotesque details of the torture-rape, partly to save Spock the pain of knowing, and partly to save himself the humiliation of Spock seeing him like that… During their recuperation he had refused to let Spock near him, afraid that Spock's mild telepathy would read his shock-damaged mind; and he had denied both McCoy’s and Spock's urgings that Spock be allowed to alleviate Kirk’s mental wounds through a healing-meld.

But now there was no capability of refusal or denial. Through the resonance Spock learned the details of Kirk’s ravaged mind and body, lived them as though they were his own; and Kirk felt Spock's pain and the Vulcan’s own shame.

… _and he felt Klingon hands on him, holding him upright on his knees… he didn’t want to re-live this scenario, he didn’t, he couldn’t stand it again… powerful arms locked him to the kneeling body behind him, a steel-hard alien organ prodded at his opening while he squirmed and yelled for dear life… the shaft penetrated… he screamed… it pushed in, deeper and deeper into his intestines, inexorably… excruciating pain as though his guts were ripping apart… his face white, bloodless, eyes and mouth open with shock-glaze… internal pressure building… unbearable agony… deeper, deeper… he screamed and screamed… and then from the front, a brutal fist clutched hair, yanked his head up… and he stared up at the Klingon commander towering over him, knowing what was to come and too helpless to resist… the thing entered his mouth… he gagged… a tetany of horror-shock locked his body in convulsed paralysis between his two torturers… he couldn’t breathe… the thing pushed down his throat… his face mashed to his tormentor’s groin… gloved fingers twisted in his hair… a thick tentacle-like thing probed down his esophagus… his mind over-loaded with horror, close to break-down… he couldn’t even scream anymore, couldn’t vomit… then the thing up his bowels released acidic-hot fluid into his entrails… he screamed inside his head… screamed… screamed… let me die let me die let me die_ …

– **_NO!_** –

– a raging command-voice surged through the resonance, and abruptly the grotesque hallucination winked out… leaving Kirk in blackness again, mind ravaged, distraught, the old wounds ripped open once more and bleeding fresh… and he felt the powerful vital presence of his Vulcan male, sensed the coruscating blackness of agony-ravaged Vulcan mind that had finally broken through the barricades of self-induced horror of Kirk’s mind; broken through to protect now as Spock had been unable to do three years prior… the tetany of Kirk’s body and mind released abruptly, and now in the sanctuary of Vulcan protection he wept, sobbed as he had never sobbed in his life, tears of unbearable pain, tears of release… and now he felt the Vulcan’s immense sadness over what had happened, and he realized the second half of Spock's two greatest fears: the dread of losing his second bond-mate the way he had lost T’Chal… and Kirk saw through Spock's eyes the parallel scene of a young Vulcan wife torture-raped to suicide while her mate could not save her… and Kirk knew that this Vulcan male would sooner sell himself, his very body and soul than to ever be put into that position again of helplessly allowing his mate to suffer utter soul-annihilation.

… and the healing-meld which Kirk had denied Spock three years previously now slipped gently and firmly into place.

Half-sobs still shuddered in Kirk’s throat and chest, the back-flash had been so real, he could hardly believe that it hadn't actually happened all over again. It would take some time now before the adrenalin-trembling calmed down once again; the horror-touch of Krugh’s grasp had been too solid to pass off as a gossamer wisp of a hallucination, the mind-ripping memories of dual-impalement… The half-sobs threatened to break into full weeping again…

… _student-Kirk, we are here_ …

– it wasn’t Spock, it was Master T’Lar… Kirk could feel her powerful warm healing presence… and then Spock's feelings surged through the resonance once again, and they were still coruscating black with rage and sorrow and self-blame; Kirk tried to reach out to him, but could not through his own agony, and the agony magnified and built through the link, and Kirk felt such pain, such terrible pain, his own, Spock's, he didn’t know which was his own and which was Spock’s…

… the gentle mind-voice attempted solace once again… _we are here now, draw upon our strength… thou art not alone, student-Kirk, and thou art not imperiled any longer… thou art completely safe… completely safe… know that thou art in control, thou hast always been in control_ …

… _help me, Spock… I’m afraid… I admit I’m afraid, Spock… I’m bleeding again… help me, please oh please, Master T’Lar_ …

… _We are here to assist thee, student-Kirk… thy wounds are bleeding again because the surface scars have been re-opened to expose the old infection beneath… Thou hadst blindly covered the wounds before and tried to pretend that they did not exist, but in doing so, thou didst allow the infection to fester secretly, hidden… But now thou must allow them to heal from the inside out, so that thou art truly healed… and Spock must do the same_ …

… _I see only darkness around me, Master T’Lar… where am I, where is Spock?_...

… _Ye are both here_ …

… _where is here?... where am I?_...

… _thy body lies upon Spock's bed, thy mind is with us… thou art safe… ye are both safe_ …

… _where are we?_...

… _Here… that is all… Ye are here_ …

… _Master T’Lar, I want to wake up… Please help me wake up… Spock, answer me_ …

… _student-Kirk, it is better if thou dost not awaken yet… Allow the healing to occur… If thou dost not master thy fear of thine enemy in this realm, thou wilt have to face him again and again in another realm… But if thou canst overcome it, then the nightmares shall never torment thee again… and ye must both be truly healed to join in the life-bond_ …

… _but why can’t you just take it from me?... Spock could erase it from my mind… please just take it away from me_ …

… _yes, student-Kirk, Spock can take it from thy mind, but that is not healing… thou must learn thine own strength of control, so that not only dost thou master thy fear of one enemy, but also so that thou canst never be endangered in that manner again_ …

… _but flesh is flesh… flesh can be hurt again… I can be tortured again, so can Spock… my thoughts alone cannot prevent that_ …

… _yes, flesh can be hurt, it can be destroyed… But thou art not thy body, and only thou dost control thine own mind… And thou art indestructible… Thine enemy tormented thy body, but never touched thy true self… Thou didst allow thyself to think that he had, and so he had – in thy thoughts… But in truth, thy soul was never hurt, never shamed… Remember thou the words over the Temple portal: Reality is essence; all else is illusion… Understand that, student-Kirk, and thou shalt be healed_ …

… _I don’t know how_ … _Spock, where are you? help me, Spock, you have the power… I can’t do it_ …

– the dark memories arose once again in the mind-link –

… then slowly, carefully, the darkness receded, gradually, fraction by fraction… Kirk felt Spock come up through tenebrous depression… the darkness faded and lifted like fog-mist… _Reality is essence; all else is illusion_ …

… _Spock, answer me… help me, Spock_ …

… _you must do it, Jim… I cannot do it for you… think of me only as a transformer: I can increase your power, augment it, but you must be the one to create the power… and you can… and you already have… Now allow it to do its healing work, Jim, allow it… As you overcame the pain of the scourging in the Temple, so overcome this_ …

Kirk remembered the scourging, and the surrender of struggle… the simple allowance of the pain exist or not… _raise the mental focus above the plane of concern regarding the presence or absence of pain… lose interest in the battle, and soon the unwanted morbidity will starve for lack of attention and will dissipate into nothingness_ …

… _so how am I supposed to forget Klingon brutality and rape… beatings_ …

… _Jim! release it… Do not continue to dwell upon the evil that was done… the evil cannot be undone by your continued self-torment and self-blame_ …

… _nor by yours, Spock_ …

… _that is correct, Jim… I too must heal myself of all anger and hate… in healing we are not denying that it happened, but we do release ourselves from continuing to suffer over it… the sub-conscious mind cannot distinguish between reality and imagination – that is the realm of the conscious… In continuing to remember the evil, you are increasing Krugh’s effect upon you – you are virtually assisting him to torture you from beyond the grave… Do not grant him that privilege, Jim… Revoke your invitation to his presence… Know that this is the lesson meant to be learned from the old situation, and once learned, will need never be repeated… And then close the door on the past_ …

… _student-Spock and student-Kirk, ye must both learn the lessons of healing, if your bond is to succeed… As pleasure and life are shared in the bond, magnified and expanded, so also are pain and death… Each of you must stand constant vigil before the portal of thy mind to recognize and pronounce the immateriality of dis-ease… the beliefs of one shall become the beliefs of the other… Each must protect the other… Each must know that protection lies in the acknowledgement that nothing but reality exists… Do not torment your minds with phantoms of unreality… Know naught but the Truth… Student-Spock, dost thou release pain now?_...

… _I release, Master T'Lar, and I am cleansed_ …

… _and dost thou release, student-Kirk?_...

… _I… am releasing… Master_ …

… _That is well, student-Kirk… know that although the process appears to occur in relative time, healing is instantaneous, because only perfection was ever present, and it was merely thy lack of perception of that perfection which caused apparent pain… Thou knowest it now deep within, and thou shalt come to know it with every atom of thy being_ …

… _then I too release pain, Master T'Lar, and I am cleansed as well_ …

… _yes… thou art… ye both shall unify and drink of the chalice of union_ …  
~ ~ ~

Once again Kirk found himself kneeling before T’Lar in the retreat of the priests. Now he accepted it for what it was: a psychic representation of a reality beneath the appearance of surface reality; now he accepted T’Lar as Spock accepted her, a being of profound knowledge and wisdom, whose existence on this plane was only one of many through which she functioned and commanded, a being who radiated serenity and peace, who wielded absolute authority by Law and through Love, who understood beyond Vulcan’s respect of logic and disdain of emotion, who comprehended Reason beneath the reason and Passion beneath the passion.

“Student-Kirk,” she directed her attention to him. “Ye have both chosen to complete the joining of Spock's Pon Farr and unite in life-bond for eternity.”

Kirk’s head bowed slightly in brief acknowledgement; he could sense Spock's resonance as the Vulcan remained kneeling beside him, eyes closed in light trance.

T’Lar continued to watch him; he thought her eyes sparkled like prisms. “Then prepare for thy unification, student-Kirk; and know that blood shall join blood, flesh shall join flesh, mind shall join mind, and soul shall join soul. Prepare thyself for pain, student-Kirk, and prepare thyself for love. There shall be no barriers between you. Understand, student-Kirk, the joining of the minds shall be complete. Thine entire being shall be open to Spock and be taken unto himself, as his shall be open to thee and be taken unto thyself. Each shall absorb the life-force of the other. Student-Kirk, know that experience will be severe, but shall culminate in the sanctification of Life-unity. Dost thou comprehend and accept the gravity of this joining?”

Again Kirk nodded slightly. He understood that she meant to warn him of his own mind’s reluctance to divulge all its secrets to another being – even if that being was his dearest brother-friend for whom he would offer his life if ever necessary – but that if this bond was to forged, if they truly desired it, that would be the very price exacted from each of them. And truly, he didn’t imagine that anything could be worse that the recent recollection of his torment at Krugh’s hands – surely nothing between him and Spock could ever approach that level of pain and dread.

His gaze met hers steadily. “I comprehend and accept, Master T’Lar,” he replied.

Her attention turned to Spock. “Student-Spock,” she pronounced, “Dost thou comprehend and accept the gravity of this joining of life-force with James Kirk?”

Spock's eyes did not open. “Yes, Master T’Lar.”

“Then unification shall commence. The four corners of the soul shall converge in life-unity: east, south, west, north; inner reality, outer appearances, the conscious mind, and the sub-conscious; unified in an indivisible Whole.”

And as once before from the altar the Vulcan High Priestess took the chalice of sun’s-blood and the ceremonial dagger. She handed the dagger to Spock, then held out the chalice as he sliced his left wrist and bled himself into the nectar.

Kirk watched, deliberately trying to hold back all feelings of horrific fascination – needless emotions would be considered out-of-place here in the midst of this ancient occult Vulcan ceremony.

He found the discipline difficult.

Now she approached Kirk, handed him the dagger. Spock's dark-green blood smeared the glinting silver edge. Kirk took it, and forcing himself not to hesitate – for the Vulcan master would note the slightest hesitation – he cut open the superficial vein of his left wrist and let his own dark-red blood dribble into the golden spice-drink already colored by Spock's life-fluid. The golden liquid quivered at the rim of the goblet. Once again he noticed that the knife-cut did not hurt as he would have expected it to, had this been occurring in normal space-time.

Now she stepped in front of Spock, offered him the chalice first. Taking it in both hands, he lifted it to his lips and tasted, then tilted his head back and drank all of the spice liquor. Kirk watched him, saw glistening wet tendrils of blood run down his arm from his lanced wrist. Kirk himself could feel the wetness of his own blood trickling into his palm, arms hanging at his sides.

They were alone in the temple now, he and Spock and T’Lar. The other priests were gone. Spock and he knelt side by side before the altar and before the Vulcan master. Kirk could feel the hard cold flagstones beneath his bare knees, bare shins. Both he and Spock were stripped of their vestments in front of the elderly priestess. Kirk forced himself to diminish the nervousness of shame which danced at the edges of his mind. He should not feel any shallow emotions here, now. Here in a Vulcan shrine, loss of emotional control was a greater shame than an unclothed body. He had chosen to undergo this rite with Spock, and he had willed himself days ago to perform in whatever manner would be demanded of him throughout.

Soft music chimed somewhere unseen. A lone female voice hummed plaintively with the simple haunting notes of a wood-flute and lyre. The primitive alien melody wove its way into his subconscious, claiming mind and body, creating harmonics with his own physical rhythm, his own resonance echoing Spock's resonance.

A surge of love washed over him as his awareness was re-tuned to their link. He felt the overwhelming passion squeeze his heart so tightly that he swayed on his knees, and had to deliberately steady himself… ‘ _thou art with me_ ’… the phrase came unbidden to his mind.

Tonight was the sixth night – he sensed that. They had passed into the sixth day and night while in this state of consciousness where space and time had no relevance. And he sensed that they would not return to normal space-time until the work which was to be completed here was completed. Tonight he would know many passions which would grip his heart tighter than he’d even known before, rip it apart and offer it in sacrifice to the Vulcan beside him, the other half of his being. Somehow he knew that when he finally awoke from this praeternatural reality, he would not be the same man who had given his word an eternity of eight nights before.

Now Spock handed the chalice back to the Vulcan master. She leaned forward, her lips touched his forehead in a solemn kiss of sealing. Then standing before him, she intoned ancient syllables, then turned the full cup over his kneeling body. Blood-nectar poured over his head and shoulders, spilled down his nude body, while he knelt there, eyes closed, motionless.

Then moving to Kirk, she offered the cup to him. He stared down at the shimmering liquid gold brimming the silver chalice. Dark-green traces swirled and intermingled with dark-red.

“Drink, student-Kirk,” she pronounced.   “Drink the full chalice of union.”

He took it and put it to his lips. The sweet sting of spice vapors, like cinnamon, like ginger, tingled his nostrils. He drank. Liquid warmth filled his mouth, coursed down his throat, settled in his belly. He tasted sweet spice; he tasted blood-iron, he tasted blood-copper. He drank it all as she commanded.

… _Blood shall join blood_ …

Again, as once before, he felt warmth simmering in his belly, and an odd sensation besides, a sensation different that the previous time he’d drunk the nectar, the time when his wrist had been slashed by Spock and his blood alone had mingled with the golden mead. Now this time he had drunk Vulcan blood, and the sensation was a fire gathering and raging within him, cremating him from the inside out, consuming him, purifying, destroying any part of himself less than worthy, preparing him for unification. Sweat drenched his hot skin, body flushed with fever.

He drank it all, then handed the chalice back to T’Lar. And then, as she had done in front of Spock, the aged Vulcan priestess kissed his brow, pronounced the sacred words of antiquity, then turned the chalice over him, and poured blood-nectar over his head, his shoulders, his chest, his back; cold rivulets trickled down his scalp, his bare feverish skin; the libation of golden mead showered him, he tilted his head back, it splashed in his face, ran down his body, his arms, his thighs, ice-cold between his legs, mingling with his sweat, cooling him refreshingly.

But then inner heat expanded and raged through him, liquid flame once more engulfed him, like a sacrificial pyre, destroying yet creating, sanctifying as T’Lar had commanded.

And then, like twice before, a massive shock wave exploded in and around and through him, blinding white glare engulfed him, his physical being crushed by unleashed psychic energy. He didn’t want to scream this time, he tried very hard not to, but the scream broke involuntarily from his tortured lungs, his physical body protesting this evolutionary leap to the next-higher realm of being… he screamed and screamed again… _is this death? is this what dis-corporation feels like? is this the severity which T’Lar had warned about?_... he had told the High Priestess that he comprehended and accepted the experience which was to come. But now he realized that he hadn't comprehended at all. And it was too late to renege… _hold on… must hold on… get control… don’t give in to panic_ …

… _SPOCK !!_... he cried into the aether…

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now Spock was not quietly comforting and soothing. Instead, his body was taking Kirk’s very powerfully, very possessively. Strong hands gripped Kirk’s shoulders, put him down on his back to look up at the Vulcan male rearing dominantly over him.  
> Kirk didn’t know where they were. All he could sense was the Vulcan. All other sense-information was disrupted. He was pinned helpless and vulnerable beneath Spock, overcome by raw primal Vulcan energy.

… _Spock!…_ he cried into the aether…

And Spock was there, but not in the manner that Kirk had expected. Always before at this point, the surrealism would dissolve, to be replaced by three-dimensional time-space once again, and Spock would be there comforting and easing the transition.

But now Spock was not quietly comforting and soothing. Instead, his body was taking Kirk’s very powerfully, very possessively. Strong hands gripped Kirk’s shoulders, put him down on his back to look up at the Vulcan male rearing dominantly over him, as the Vulcan organ asserted possession.

And they were definitely not in three-dimensional time-space.

Kirk didn’t know where they were. All he could sense was the Vulcan. All other sense-information was disrupted. He was pinned helpless and vulnerable beneath Spock, overcome by raw primal Vulcan energy. The elemental power transfixed him, absorbed him, dominated him; and he felt his own male dominance hesitate, then defer to the absolute male essence which was the Vulcan.

A gasp of shock escaped human lips as the Vulcan organ penetrated him firmly, forcefully. There was no foreplay now, no acquiescence to Kirk’s hesitancy or reluctance, no request of Kirk’s permission. Kirk had already acknowledged comprehension and acceptance; so now life-bonding had begun and would not be interrupted, a tidal wave of gathering power, unstoppable, raging, torrential, overwhelming any resistance; and indeed Kirk fought his own resistance, his own fear of this massive energy storm. He must coöperate fully, whatever the cost, there must be no taint of hesitancy. Spock had said that Kirk could consider their joining to be similar to human marriage if he wanted to, but that it was far greater than that. This was blood-mating.

And Kirk knew it now.

... _blood shall join blood_...

The male organ probed deeper and deeper, lengthening as it erected, hard, swollen, hot, blood-engorged, penetrating him, plunging in ever further, ever deeper, unrelenting, incessant, deep into Kirk’s bowels.

Kirk’s face twisted in pain, he cried out against the cramping of his gut protesting the forcible intrusion… he begged for momentary cessation, but there was none… even a moment’s relief – but the process could only continue forward now, could not cease, could not pause… uniting now, bonding for eternity now. Spock held him, gripped him helpless now, impaled him coercively.

T’Lar had said there would be pain – physical pain, mental pain, severe, close to intolerable – and yet, if Kirk wanted this bond as he maintained he did, he would tolerate anything demanded of him now. Anything. And he would overcome the pain.

And then finally the introgression stayed, the Vulcan sexual organ fully penetrated inside Kirk’s viscera, fully locked in coitus, in bond.

… _flesh shall join flesh_ …

Kirk’s breath dragged from his lungs, hitching arrhythmic, as he endured the throbbing pain in the very core of his body, the nearly-unbearable pressure in his bowels. He willed himself to relax – try to ease the tension, lessen the cramps which threatened him with unconsciousness.

The other nights had not been anywhere near this painful – they had been erotic, exquisitely pleasurably – some discomfort, yes, but Spock had been solicitous, gentle, playful.

But he was not playing now. The creation of a life-bond was extremely serious. Each requirement was to be performed in sequence. They had not melded yet either, whereas always before, the meld had coincided with copulation, which also served to ease the pain of penetration. But this time copulation was raw, stripped of any side-distractions, complete unto itself… _was this the way Vulcans normally made love?_ , Kirk wondered. Probably Vulcan women could give as powerfully as they received. But Kirk was not Vulcan.

Blood had joined blood, and flesh had joined flesh.

– and now… _mind shall join mind_ …

Strong fingers reached to Kirk’s face. Spock did not ask permission now. Permission had already been granted countless times in the past and an infinity of seven nights ago. And in addition, tonight Spock was marking possession of Kirk’s being. Kirk’s body and desires no longer belonged to the human alone.

Kirk felt the intimacy of the mind-link, felt the mind of his soul-mate slip in beside his own. And now came warmth and comfort and love, although there was still a duty to be performed. This still was not the time for playful love-making.

Tendrils of mental fire probed delicately into the labyrinth of Kirk’s mind, almost as though literally exploring the sulci of his brain. There were no words this time – the link was deeper than speech capabilities. The living tendrils explored, studied, everything about him, everything he knew, everything he was. T’Lar had said that his entire essence would be spread before Spock – and that Kirk would feel reluctance to let Spock know that entirety.

He did feel the reluctance very strongly… reluctance for Spock to view beyond the socially acceptable aspects of his reality: his goodness and kindness, his capability of wise command, his love and sacrifice for his family and crew – and Spock. But Spock probed anyway, appropriatively took every part of the being that was Kirk and examined it: his fears, his shame, hidden guilt, hidden perversions. The Vulcan’s more-powerful mind broke down all of Kirk’s mental blocks, one after another. Kirk didn’t want all his privacies revealed. He resisted, more and more vehemently the closer Spock cut toward the tender core of his soul. But Spock sliced cleanly, effortlessly, through Kirk’s fear and resistance. Kirk struggled; Spock overwhelmed him and took what needed to be taken. Never before had Kirk felt so helpless in his life; and a very senseless irrational but primal fear terrorized him, fear that he would lose himself, fear that Spock would abuse those privacies… Of course Spock would never misuse him – but the part of his mind which could acknowledge that realization was far above the primitive base layer which was now being exposed to light for the first time. Even his profound love for Spock did not reach that absolute core of his soul.

But now the Vulcan impaled the human’s body and his mind, and Kirk had to submit to another being’s ownership of his soul. For the two of them to bond, his love for Spock had to be absorbed into the ultimate essence of himself, the very elemental fear and resistance had to be overcome and subjugated – and suddenly Kirk realized very profoundly that the conqueror would not be Spock, but rather himself: he must subjugate the irrational fear by his own discipline. He wanted to submit, he wanted to, but for the first time in his life he was afraid of the Vulcan; correction, of the Vulcan’s intensity. Of the two of them, Spock was the dominant one, and always had been. All these years he had chosen to discipline that natural dominance into submission to his superior officer. Now Kirk had to realize and learn that same discipline.

Frantic trembling hands clutched Spock's wrists, but whether Kirk meant to pull the probing fingers from his face or press them tighter, Kirk wasn’t sure himself…

– a gasp of desperation through the link –

… _Spock_ …

– tendrils probed intimately, so intimately… a touching so much more intimate than even the sodomy which Kirk willingly allowed his physical body to be submitted to… All his mental strength, all his Academy training, all his knowledge of psychology – none of it could hold back the purposeful determined psychic exploration that drove to the very nucleus of his self… And his fear did not want to be disciplined…

– another gasp, this one of final desperation –

… _Spock, no… please_ …

– but the probe did not waver, but drove on course… a fraction to go, just a fraction –

… _Spock, please! no no no_ …

… _yes, Jim, you want this… surrender_ …

… _no no no_ … A human heart was crying with helplessness… _please no… no no… please don’t violate me_ …

… _you are not being violated, Jim, you do want this, you know that you do… overcome your last fear… I come not to desecrate, but to worship at the holy altar of your being… allow me to approach your altar, friend, brother, lover… and you approach my own, my soul-mate… I love you… love you_ …

The probing could easily rip through the remaining fraction of distance to Kirk’s most inner self, it could easily rend the tissue-thin veil covering this holiest-of-holies: a human soul; but it hesitated for the final invitation to be offered willingly by the host.

Kirk did know that he wanted it, he did know… and in one super-human effort, he surrendered all barriers, all defenses, and gave himself with all the trust he had to the being who was now uniting with his life.

… _very well, then take me now, Spock, my friend, brother, lover… I surrender all that I am to you… I am yours_ …

… _as I am yours as well_ …

– and then the tingling fiery touch parted the veil, and the essence of another being knelt in the presence of a soul-mate’s most private self, and offered adoration, simple unconditional adoration.

And Kirk felt exquisite caresses of love, so intense, so perfect, so far beyond words, so far beyond comprehension. He could barely endure its beauty and compassion. Sheer ecstasy blinded him… And then he realized, almost as an after-thought, that he was still himself – his individuality had not been destroyed after all. His surrender was also his triumph. His soul-mate knew all, good and bad, and loved him still, loved him absolutely.

– and pleaded for reciprocation… _please Jim, take me as I have taken you… know me, love me… I invite you to my altar_ … _the path is clear and very short_ …

Kirk reached out, blindly, through the mass of love-energy, into Spock’s being… he saw Spock's loves and fears, every one spread out for him to examine and acknowledge… and Spock's shame: shame of failure to live up to the Vulcan ideal… and the mental and physical ordeals and deprivations suffered in that one great unending battle which consumed his life in eternal raging flame – the Vulcan demand to suppress all emotion – and the battle was torture for Spock, as he fought it constantly, daily, hourly…

… and Kirk lived that visceral struggle with him, tasted blood and Vulcan heat and Vulcan sand… knew the sun-blasted furnace that was Vulcan, and the people of that sere volcanic desert planet – people as sere and indurate as the stark unforgiving land which spawned them…

… and Kirk knew the stony exterior of that essence called Spock, discipline-tempered and ice-cold, and he knew the torrential blaze beneath, violence of passion which refused to submit willingly to the bondage of absolute unemotion…

… Spock allowed him all of it – the pain, the pleasure, the love, the brutal destruction of his first life-bond with his childhood wife, and now the utter willingness of surrender to this new life-bond with his dearest blood-friend…

… and Kirk realized the potency of that individuality who lived with such mass of conflict, the might of that vitality, barely harnessed by silken threads of conscious will; he knew it coursing through his own body, mind, spirit, as though it were his own… and now indeed it was his own. The last link of the life-bond was being forged now, hot and glowing, as his own essence probed to the core of Spock's, reached for the inmost heart of his soul-mate as Spock had taken Kirk’s life-force and worshipped it.

… and Spock offered the final invitation to his own subjugator… _take me now, James Kirk, as I have taken you… I surrender all that I am to you… take me now to yourself… take me_ …

… and Kirk reached Spock's heart, took it, loved it, worshipped it… and the fiery tendrils of each man met and interlaced, intertwined into an unseverable bond of silk and steel and gold, of excruciating pain and intolerable pleasure, of one human male and one Vulcan male…

… _and soul shall join soul_ …

… and a deluge of love and compassion inundated them, the esoteric reality of a new being begotten of each of them, yet greater than the sum of its two parts… unified, yet still individual…

… and each heard the words of the other, echoed in that innermost chamber of life:

… _we are joined in blood and in flesh and in mind and in soul… we are one… I love thee… I am thine, and thou art mine… we are one for eternity… t’hy’la… friend, brother, lover_ …

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> … Jim Kirk found himself beneath Spock's weight still, but now he could see something of the world around them, although it was not Spock's quarters on the Enterprise, nor was it the Vulcan temple.  
> They lay on a beach of soft golden sand warmed by dual red-gold suns overhead. Eddies of an iridescent lake beside them lapped at their unclothed bodies. Thick-leaved trees clung to the water’s edge, dark green foliage entwined with flowering lianas; ferns clumped on the ground beneath.

… Jim Kirk found himself beneath Spock's weight still, but now he could see something of the world around them, although it was not Spock's quarters on the Enterprise, nor was it the Vulcan temple.

They lay on a beach of soft golden sand warmed by dual red-gold suns overhead. Eddies of an iridescent lake beside them lapped at their unclothed bodies. Thick-leaved trees clung to the water’s edge, dark green foliage entwined with flowering lianas; ferns clumped on the ground beneath. The air temperature was pleasant, a light warm mist drifted down on them, flicked at their bare skin. Across the pool tumbled a narrow opalescent waterfall from a ledge maybe ten feet up. The scene reminded Kirk ironically of a Vulcanian attempt to re-create the ambience of a Terran South-Sea island… someone’s idea of Paradise, Kirk thought to himself, feeling a film of water ebb and lap beneath his back.

… _yours_ … Spock's mind in the link answered him with a flash of bland amusement which cued an echo of amusement inside Kirk. The human always delighted at any expression of humor from his Vulcan.

… _and yours_ … Kirk riposted… _I sure wouldn’t think up the two suns_ …

… _it is our Paradise, Jim_ … _and we have earned it_ …

… _yes, we have_ … and Kirk’s irony blended into sincerity.

And now there was no pain in their coition, nothing but pure sweet pleasure. Kirk felt himself penetrated, felt the pressure of Spock's organ inside him, felt Spock's firm grip on Kirk’s organ between them. The Vulcan’s manipulation very nearly drove the breath from Kirk’s lungs. Electric touch danced all over his body from the soles of his feet to his scalp. He had never wanted orgasm so badly in his life, but neither did he want this delicious foreplay to end. He didn’t want to wake up to the three-dimensional reality of a starship demanding his presence at her helm. For the first time in twenty-eight years, he had something he wanted more than he wanted the Enterprise: he had a mating bond with a very dear Vulcan friend of his. For the rest of eternity their souls would be locked together in communion; for now their bodies were locked in passion-raging consummating intercourse.

Rhythmically their pelvises worked together, eagerly, quivering, hungry for satisfaction. Kirk lay beneath the Vulcan’s weight and body heat, absorbing every sensation of their sexual joining, of this fantasy scene: the warm body lying atop him, the warm wet golden sand pressed beneath, the warm wet friction of copulation. The lake edge washed ever so gently against them, beneath them, mist drifted down over them.

With his lips Kirk explored the Vulcan’s face; with his arms he gripped the long slender sinewy body to himself. One hand stroked Spock's shoulders, gripped, squeezed, kneaded the firm muscles with the same strength as that of his lower body working tirelessly in rhythm with his partner’s; the other took the back of Spock's head, pressed the weathered face to his own, fingers tangled in uncombed grey-flecked black hair, feeling, touching, stroking.

Spock worked close to orgasm now, ramming frantically, working just so, for the maximum explosion of sensation inside Kirk’s body. Kirk could feel the Vulcan’s proximity to release… _but a moment more, just a moment more… keep working, keep working_ …

Kirk wanted release too; however, Spock had deliberately interrupted manipulation of Kirk’s organ to accomplish his own climax… through the link he could take Kirk right to the edge and then hold him there begging for relief, for mercy… but not let him go over… _why? I need it too, Spock… help me… help me_ …

No answer through the resonance… just incessant straining toward climax… _a fraction more… a fraction more_ …

Explosion of mental, spiritual, physical energy… Kirk took everything Spock had deep into his own body… flashes through the resonance of exquisite pleasure, intense love flowing both ways… _and a sweet shimmer of memory of a delicate silver chalyss flower absorbing all of her husband’s fire and mindless storming passion, and a woman’s hands loving and soothing, delicate yet infinitely strong_ … and a human male offering everything of value he owned to his life-mate… and a Vulcan male consummating his half of this new bond, giving everything of himself to his bonded human…

– a slight hesitation in the energy surge as Spock's orgasm faded and he withdrew his impalement of his mate’s body; then rolling off, he lay down prone on the wet sand to offer his body for Kirk’s consummation.

Tremendous emotion flooded Kirk’s being at the unexpected offering – surprise and overwhelming desire, the resonance alive and electric with Spock's invitation and Kirk’s excitement and delight and desperate orgasmic need. He had never thought that he would be allowed to take Spock during any of this ritual. But if they were equal partners now, bond-mates now, he did have that right. Now it was his turn to complete consummation, so without another moment of hesitation, Kirk indulged himself in the unanticipated pleasure of mounting the Vulcan’s submissive body and sheathing his swollen throbbing organ into hot moist sweetness… _dear god, dear god, it feels so good_ …

The energy level jumped to a peak again, and Kirk released a sigh of undreamed pleasure as he settled down on top of Spock's body. Wonderful exhilarating tingles shivered all through his muscles… to finally – _finally!_ – take Spock's body. Now he realized just how badly he’d wanted for the last few days to do this, to be a man, to act as a man… all this week he’d been acceding to a woman’s rôle – albeit willingly, and there was no shame in a woman being a woman – But he was a man, and he wanted to be a man with Spock… and now, _oh sweet god_ , Spock was offering him the chance to do just that.

Orgasm hovered just an angel’s breath away. He went to work.

He penetrated Spock's heat; and Spock’s heat penetrated him. Mind penetrated mind, giving and receiving ecstasy simultaneously… _so exquisite_ … he worked so hard, so delectably hard, to drag forth every fraction of passion that existed in this joining, every electric surge, every fiery tendril that danced through his nerves, from his swollen ramming organ, to every part of his body, so hot, so wet, so obsessively irresistible; he fed on the reverberations which echoed back from Spock's receptivity, the wordless screaming ecstasy which enthralled Spock, the Vulcan’s delight and surprise at these brand-new sensations of being on the receiving end of this physical ritual.

And then Kirk couldn’t hold out any longer, he couldn’t stop it. Passion surged over him, hard rhythmic involuntary thrusts of his organ as deep as he could ram into Spock's warmth, sudden hard ejaculation of fluid, so thick and wet. Surprise raked over Spock, a cry of shock pierced through their link, as he submitted to insemination for the first time in his life… half-senseless moans and gasps from both of them in desperate rhythm with two bodies humping and rocking mindlessly.

Kirk’s arms embraced the Vulcan’s wet body tight to himself, squeezed the long hard body beneath his own, breath ragged and moist in the Vulcan’s ear.

And then like a shimmery ethereal thing, orgasm faded and dissipated, and Kirk collapsed hot and sweaty on the Vulcan’s back, Spock's skin sweat-slick beneath him, Kirk gasping for air, still half-heartedly working a few more thrusts, but too weak to continue for more than half-a-minute. Warm moist lips searched Spock's nape, the side of his neck, his ear – and this time Spock did not protest, but rather allowed his bond-mate any intimacy which the human desired – then Spock turned his head to the side, and Kirk’s interest shifted to the etched face, kissed the moist skin, ran a wet tongue in aimless trails on the weathered cheek, worked his way to the corner of thin lips, kissed and kissed again, then even that was too much effort for exhausted muscles, and his face nestled against Spock's and for a long time they lay there like that in this fantasy paradise of golden sand and lush green rain-forest and waterfall splashing into crystal pool.

… _Jim_ … Spock's caress of his name floated through the resonance… _there is one last step to complete our bonding… come with me into the lake… let the water seal us for eternity_ …

– the sound of rushing water… Kirk could hear it inside himself as well as outside, inside both of them, an aspect of this mystical resonance joining the two of them and enveloping them. The eddies lapped against them, water, energy, living energy, caressing their bodies, soothing, healing any last pin-pricks of pain from this week of ordeals.

Together they arose and stepped into the warm beckoning lagoon. The water lapped at their ankles, their thighs, their bodies; relaxing muscles responded to the calmative wash; tingling energy ran up their nerves to refresh and restore. Kirk immersed to his chin in the iridescent liquid, moved his hands through the water and felt the tingling as though he were immersing himself in an electron soup… he could not remember ever feeling so relaxed and safe, able to completely release his guard and give himself in this bonding and the healing power of this energy field… a complete cleansing, purification, rebirth.

Together they swam beneath the water’s surface, touching each other, loving each other, feeling the humming radiance of the energy permeate their unification, then lazily they moved upward and across the pool to the waterfall. The cascade showered over them, splashed about them; an ultimate sealing libation over their heads, drenching their bodies, absorbing them; and James Kirk and Spock of the House of Sarek knew each other…and loved each other… and were each other.  
~ ~ ~

_I swim back to the edge of the pool easily, gently… climb back onto the shore. I am no longer two; I am one – healed, cleansed, unified, purified. I lay upon the golden sand, face up to the warm mist sparkling down through the leaves overhead, drifting over me; I listen to the slight breeze rustling leaves and mallow-reed._

_I sense T’Lar. Her essence interpenetrates my own. She has completed her task. The Vulcan master acknowledges:_

… _thou hast succeeded, Student… Life eternal we wish for thee, Student, and prosperity always_ …  
~ ~ ~

I awaken back aboard a starship once again…

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a moan of release, Kirk rolled off his bed-partner to lie face-up beside him… why did he feel so exhausted, when the automatic lighting in the room indicated that it was morning once again? he felt like he hadn’t slept for days. Dull heavy enervation overwhelmed him, limp paralysis crept over his muscles. He ached all over – ached so bad. His head throbbed mercilessly. It even hurt to think… oh god, what had they done?

With a moan of release, Kirk rolled off his bed-partner to lie face-up beside him… why did he feel so exhausted, when the automatic lighting in the room indicated that it was morning once again? he felt like he hadn’t slept for days. Dull heavy enervation overwhelmed him, limp paralysis crept over his muscles; his arms fell to his sides, legs splayed out, head sank back into the support of the pillow. He ached all over – ached so bad. His ass hurt like he’d had a ramrod shoved up it, and his head throbbed mercilessly. It even hurt to think… _oh god, what had they done?_

Spock's hands touched his forehead. “Shall I call McCoy?” the Vulcan offered to his awakening companion.

Kirk’s head managed to shake negation. “No,” he grunted. “I’ll be… all right… in a minute…” But his body told him it would take more than a minute to recover from the massive energy depletion which had stressed and strained it to its ultimate limits. He wanted to get up off the bed – he tried to call on bodily reserves, but all reserves had been exhausted long before… _god help… god help… what had they done?_...

… and the words returned once more to his dulled mind: _t’hy’la… my friend, my brother… my life-mate_ …

… then one more surge of memories flashed over his consciousness, of Krugh’s devastation, of Spock's heart-rending loss of a twenty-one-year-old bride, of Vulcan power taking Jim Kirk’s essence, of a fantasy paradise and two warm bodies and sexual electricity and the introitus of warm creamy seed culminating absolute bonding…

… And Kirk felt the shimmer of unwilled tears welling in his eyes, he didn’t want to cry… he was so tired, so weak, drained of everything he had, everything he knew, everything he was… _just lie here and sleep, sleep and sleep… never get up again_ …

“Jim,” Spock addressed him, fingers feather-touching his temples; and through the resonance, Kirk felt support, felt the lift of Spock's reserves seeping through him, rebuilding, revitalizing. The Vulcan voice, deep, raspy. “Jim, we must return to duty today. However, if you’d like, we can split-shift and I can take first watch.”

A half-groggy mutter. “… duty? what duty?... you’re certainly not fit for duty until your Pon Farr is over…”

“Pon Farr is over, Admiral.”

“… and I’m not fit right now… oh god, Spock, I ache all over…”

“It’s done, Jim,” the Vulcan reiterated. “It’s over.”

Kirk was frowning. “What day is this?”

“Thursday.”

“Then where have we been for the past two-and-a-half days?... The last thing I remember was Monday afternoon… you were meditating over by the altar, and I was sitting here on the bed reading Scotty’s reports…”

“Sixty-one-point-two-seven hours of real time elapsed,” Spock announced, “while we completed the bonding on a higher plane of awareness.”

Kirk saw the reports which he had been studying now spilled across the bed where they had scattered from unconscious fingers sixty-one-point-two-seven hours before. Then lying back on the bed, he rubbed a hand over his sleep-bleary face; three-day’s growth of whiskers prickled his palm. “Oh god, Spock, what have we done?”

“Are you having second thoughts, Jim?”

“No… god no.” An arm across the upper part of his face hid Kirk’s eyes from view, but not his lips, now pulled slightly in a show of discomfort. “I just wonder what we’re going to do now.”

“We are going to return to our duties on the bridge and focus on the Enterprise and the other 693 crew members who are awaiting our presence once again. The ship’s status has changed since we last spoke with Doctor McCoy. For instance, are you aware that the vessel is moving right now?”

At his adjutant’s comment, Kirk’s conscious mind became aware of the gentle engine vibration which his subconscious had already noted some time before – a comforting sensation of normality which had been disturbingly lacking for the previous six weeks. Kirk sat up abruptly; his grimace of pain lessened. “Scotty must have finished the engine repair while we were involved in the bonding. We’ve got to talk with him. He probably thinks we’ve deserted him for life… and McCoy – I promised that I’d call him once a day. By now he’s probably out of his skull thinking we’ve died or something.” He started to push off the bed.

“That would not be out of character for the doctor,” Spock agreed.

Kirk sat on the edge of the bed – and winced suddenly as an iron shaft of pain jammed up his ass. “…ohh gdd!...” he half-swore, half-begged.

Spock took his shoulders; and at the touch, Kirk felt his pain mirrored by the Vulcan. Then soothing thoughts calmed through the link, took the discomfort from Kirk’s strained bruised body, absorbed it, dissipated it. Muscles relaxed, breath eased a little, but Kirk didn’t kid himself. Recovery was far from complete. Seven days of orgastic diversity didn’t simply dissolve in a few minutes.

“Shall I call McCoy?” Spock inquired again solicitously.

Again Kirk shook his head, even as another wince creased his features. He felt Spock's empathetic resonance as well. “No,” he declined again. “I’ll go to Sickbay later,” – a slight tightening of lips – “if I need to.”

“Jim, you need to.”

“Spock, what we need right now is to get out of bed and get up to the bridge. The ship needs our command.”

An ironic raised slanted eyebrow. “Yes, that is what I have been recommending,” Spock agreed, then reminded, “In that case, we must at least take control of our mental emanations. It is imperative that we shield our thoughts and our bond from others.”

“I know.” Another wince, barely repressed. “Believe me, I don’t intend to let anybody find out about us, except maybe McCoy – and I’m not even sure how to break the news to him.”

“Then you must tone down your awareness of the link. Right now almost anyone could read your thoughts – you are still expressing very strongly through the resonance.”

“So are you,” Kirk riposted gently, still enrobed in the Vulcan’s own intimate radiation. For the past twenty-eight years Kirk had felt that presence and received comfort and steady support from it. But now he sensed it far more deeply than he ever had before, far more securely, far more permanently, for more intimately – and realization slowly sank in that this was what it would be like for the rest of their lives, and indeed for eternity if it was true that souls were immortal.

A slight nod of acknowledgement to Kirk’s gentle verbal nudge; then Spock pushed himself up to a sitting position and swung his legs off the side of the bed, as though to continue lying there any longer would quickly negate any attempts at control. “The resonance has already been tuned down somewhat,” he announced, “ – At full force, we are literally one, our minds are completely interpenetrated; however, that is not practical for normal time-space. Therefore, at the surface levels, we have separated in order to function effectively. Beyond that, each of us must discipline himself to maintain that separation while we are among others. That will prove most difficult at first, because our bond is new; nevertheless it is mandatory that we not allow it to interfere with bridge-duty.”

Kirk was grudgingly climbing out of bed now. “I don’t suppose I should suggest that you join me in the shower right now, or we’d probably never even make it to the bridge.”

“This is not the most opportune time for such a suggestion, no.”

Starting toward the bathroom, Kirk hesitated; looked back at the serious-faced Vulcan sitting on the bed. “You Pon Farr is completely finished now… you’re sure?”

“Yes, Admiral, it is done.”

“Then I guess it’ll be easy for you to… maintain the separation. You don’t have any sexual feelings for us anymore, do you?”

“No.”

Helpless irony tightened the human’s lips in a humorless smile. “I still do.”

Spock nodded again at his partner, once, slightly. “I know.” He watched his superior officer disappear into the lavatory. “Jim,” he added, “I said that I no longer had sexual feelings. I did not say that it would be easy for me to maintain separation.”

Kirk’s head leaned back out to echo a final word. His expression had softened. “I know.”

And then over the hiss of the shower, he called out to the bedroom, “Spock, get on the comm – have McCoy meet us in the briefing room in ten minutes, and then tell Scotty to come in half-an-hour. I think we should find out just where this ship is heading now.”

* * * * *

 _to be continued_ …


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk felt Spock’s essence inside himself in a profound manner which he’d never had before… damn, he wanted that first-officer of his!...  
> … Jim… you must shield your thoughts… I cannot do my job… please refrain from such ideas, at least until after shift, and then we shall speak again…  
> … we’ll do more than speak… Kirk teased all-too-devilishly.

McCoy’s pointed intense stare skewered both commanding officers across the conference table, across a scattering of reports and computer print-outs. “Now,” he insisted adamantly, “will one of you please tell me why I haven’t heard from either of you for the past three days? What the hell have you two been doing? You promised to keep me informed. The only reason I knew you weren’t both dead was the vitals activity on the telemetry.”

Kirk was feeling uncomfortable beneath the doctor’s demanding stare. Spock had been right: the bond would have to be turned down before they entered the bridge; Kirk certainly wouldn’t be able to effectively command if his entire attention was engaged in exploring this new link with another consciousness inside his head. He smiled at his Vulcan partner. “I told you the doctor might start thinking we’d died.”

Spock answered the medic. “To finish the rite, we entered an altered state of consciousness for the final two-and-a-half days. We were unable to contact you.”

“But it _is_ over now?’ Suspicious doubt colored the physician’s voice. “There’s no… loose strings…?”

“Pon Farr is over, Doctor.”

The medic’s suspicious gaze lingered on the pair. “Pon Farr may be over, but something else isn’t. There’s something you’re not telling me. Jim is grinning like a school-girl with her first crush. Now tell me, what have you done?”

Kirk’s embarrassed flush only deepened, and his involuntary smile did nothing to mask his discomfiture. “Please, Bones, don’t ask,” he urged. “We don’t know how to tell you just yet.”

“That you two have gone and done something a little more permanent than just this week’s situation – isn’t that it?”

Spock interrupted McCoy’s piercing line of inquiry. “Doctor, we cannot discuss it with you yet. Suffice it to say that my ordeal is completed now, and I thank you both for assisting me this past week. Now, the admiral and I have noted that the ship is moving once again, so obviously Mister Scott has effected engine repair. Does that also indicate that the quarantine has been lifted and we are returning to Earth?”

“Not exactly,” McCoy countered. “We’re headed back to Earth, but quarantine is still in effect. But the vaccine does seem to preventing any new cases, and we think we may have found an antibiotic to combat the thing. When we get to Earth, we’ll remain in quarantine until the Surgeon-General’s office is certain that the disease is containable. Jim…” – the doctor’s attention returned to the admiral – “Spock says it’s over for him. But is it over for you?”

Kirk shook his head, surrendering to McCoy’s relentless inquisition. “No, Bones, it isn’t over for me – or Spock either, for that matter. We can’t tell you more because we haven’t even discussed it between ourselves yet… But don’t worry. We don’t intend to let the crew find out what we’ve been doing.”

“The crew already knows!” McCoy insisted. “That’s what I tried to warn you about a week ago. There’s no way you could hide something like this. The bridge crew has known Spock for thirty years now – did you really think they wouldn’t guess? Anyone who knows anything about Vulcan customs knows what it means for a Vulcan to go into seclusion for a week every seven years… And then for you to follow him, Jim… well, you may as well have broadcasted it to the whole ship.”

“Everyone knows?”

“A lot suspect. Gossip travels fast. Chapel and Uhura figured it out first – you know women keep track of birthdays and things like that – and I don’t know who all they told. I know Scotty figured it out too.”

“Doctor,” the Vulcan officer corrected, “I believe you are exaggerating the situation slightly. I doubt that the entire ship’s complement is aware of the admiral’s and my business. With the multiple emergencies incapacitating the ship recently, I would think that most of the crew has been either too sick or too busy to know or care about my own personal trials. No doubt the majority of them hasn’t even been aware of the temporary command-shift this past week. You are probably correct that the bridge crew knows, and of course you and Doctor Chapel. But I have faith that all of them are mature enough not to betray a privacy any more than you would. Now, is that not a more accurate analysis of the situation, Doctor?”

McCoy grudgingly agreed. “Okay, so maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right. But you’ve got to admit there’s a helluva potential for this to get out of hand. And neither of you can afford that.”

“On that point I agree with you completely, Doctor,” Spock acknowledged. He reached for the pile of reports which McCoy had laid on the table upon entering the conference room. “Now, would you please return to the subject of the debriefing? What is your patient-status at present?”

McCoy tossed another report on top of the stack between them. “Since the epidemic began, there’ve been 259 cases, eleven deaths, and one spontaneous recovery – Scotty, as you know. Right now we have fifty filling the stasis chamber, and twenty-three filling all the life-support stations. Those two figures haven’t changed in seventeen days. Otherwise we have sixty-nine in critical-but-stable condition, and twenty upgraded to serious in the past two days.” A gesture indicated the top report in the stack. “The chemical breakdown of the vaccine and drug therapy we’re trying is all listed in there. It won’t mean anything to Jim, but it might to you. If you can think of any refinements, please mention them. We still have a ways to go before we start considering ourselves completely successful.”

Spock nodded, glanced over McCoy’s report. “I shall confer with you later. Perhaps I can assist.”

Kirk spoke up. “When you last communicated with Surgeon-General’s office, did they offer any assistance upon our return to Spacedock?”

“Yes – we gave them the formula for the antibiotic and they’ll manufacture enough of it for us, and they also promised to send fresh medical personnel aboard to spell Chris and me. And the best promise of all is that as soon as twenty-five percent of our patient-load shows definite improvement, they’ll lift the quarantine.”

“And when do you speculate that will be?”

McCoy shrugged. “Who can say? Hopefully within a week. I don’t want to stay at Spacedock, within shouting distance of Earth but unable to go home, any longer than I have to. I have a wife I haven’t seen in ten months waiting for me.”

“How long have we been travelling? When did Scotty finish engine repair?” Kirk was skimming through the engineer’s daily logs.

The doctor nodded toward the sliding front door of the conference room. “Here he comes now, he can tell you better than I can.”

The smoked plexiglass wall slid open and Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott walked into the room. He still wore command uniform rather than engineering fatigues. A little stiffly he looked at the trio already seated at the table, his face obviously trying to cover some sense of awkwardness.

“ ‘Morning, Scotty,” Kirk greeted, waving to a nearby chair. “I hear you finally made some headway with the engines. Good work.”

The Scotsman sat down. “Thank ye, Admiral. The antimatter chamber on number five still refuses to inject coolant properly. But at least we’re movin’ again. I canna’ do more until we reach Spacedock. Good mornin’, Mister Spock, Doctor.”

“ ‘Morning, Scotty,” McCoy greeted. “Y’know, Jim, Scotty’s the real hero in this whole disaster. He fixed the engines, and it was his blood that gave us the vaccine for the epidemic. If you don’t recommend him for a commendation, I will.”

Kirk grinned. “Believe me, I intend to. And in addition to rescuing us all from a double disaster, don’t forget he also willingly stepped into command while I assisted Spock this week.”

Scott’s gaze dropped away slightly in embarrassment, a little uneasiness.

“Mister Scott,” Spock spoke up. “You are by now no doubt aware that it was my Pon Farr which the admiral was assisting me through. We appreciate and thank you for your confidentiality.”

The Scotsman nodded a little shortly.

“What is the matter with the number five engine?” Spock inquired, reaching for the engineer’s reports on the table in front of Kirk. “Have you replaced the injectors themselves?”

“We’ve replaced everything, Mister Spock. There’s a mechanical flaw in the injector mechanism – in both the primary unit and all the replacements. The upper seals are leaking – to tell ye the truth, I think the manufacturer’s whole lot is bad. And the hell of it is that the leak damaged the intermix chamber. But there’s nothing to do except get back to Spacedock and overhaul the whole system. I canna’ do more out here.”

Kirk watched his Chief Engineer. “How long have we been traveling? When did the engines become operational again?”

“Monday afternoon we reached operating ability. We fired them up at 1630 and began moving at 1700. So we’ve been travelling for two-and-a-half days now. I’m holdin’ the speed at warp-two, although we could bring it up to warp-four without imbalancing. I wouldna’ go higher than that without proper repairs.”

“You’re the expert,” Kirk agreed. “And how has command been faring? Any immediate problems requiring Spock's or my attention?”

“No, sir, no command problems at all, unless ye consider daily status requests from Admiral Albrecht a problem. He’s been wantin’ reports from ye, although I’ve been deferrin’ them as much as possible.”

Kirk’s face expressed light-humored resignation. “Thanks, Scotty.”

“I suppose he knows about you and… Mister Spock…”

“He does.”

Scott nodded, once again a little brusquely. “The admiral didna’ seem to think it strange that ye were away from the bridge. Anyway, he said that we’ve all been granted three months’ shore-leave after quarantine is lifted. But other than dealing with the admiral every day, very little has occurred requiring command decision – after all, the ship hasna’ been going anywhere for quite some time.”

Kirk grinned again. “Well, at least we’re going somewhere now – thanks to you. Oh, by the way, what about the plumbing problem on B-deck? Did that ever get straightened out?”

“I’ve nae had time!” Now exasperation flared in dark Scottish eyes beneath a shock of silver hair, lips tightened beneath salt-and-pepper moustache. “Admiral, as ye said yourself, I’ve been busy with other matters, and half my crew is ill. So if those on B-deck need facilities, they’ll just have to go to another deck for the time being! I canna’ be everywhere at once!”

With a reassuring grin, Kirk raised a hand. “That’s all right, Scotty, it’s all right. I just wondered. You’ve already performed far above the call of duty. I promise some special compensation when we return home. You too, Bones. You’ve both outdone yourselves through this entire crisis.”

Scott’s outburst faded. “Well, with no more crises, and raising the engines to warp-four, we should be home in three-and-a-half weeks, although I wouldna’ turn down the assistance of a strong tail-wind.”

A tiny wink flickered across the admiral’s face. “Well, maybe when Spock gets back to his computer, he’ll be able to figure out a suggestion to coax another half-warp out of the engines.”

“Well, if he can, he’s a better magician than I am.”

“All right, gentlemen,” Kirk concluded, “unless anyone has any questions, I guess that’s all for now. We’ll talk again after Spock and I have had a chance to review your logs in detail. Thanks again, both of you, for your coöperation. We’ll join you on the bridge in a few minutes.”

Scott rose from his chair. “Well, I’ll nae complain turning command back to you. I’ve nae had a chance to review my own departments logs and prepare my report for Fleet Command. Ye know where to find me if ye need me.”

The doctor followed him out. “Don’t remind me of paperwork. I’ve got patients to care for. Why the hell can’t someone else write my reports for me?”

Their voices drifted down the corridor. “I thought ye made Doctor Chapel do all your paperwork.”

“Very funny, Scotty. If Chris hears you, she’ll do worse to us than just lock us in our quarters again.”

Spock waited until the plexiglass wall slid shut, then turned to the admiral once again. “You and I also have reports to file upon our return to Earth. I trust you haven’t forgotten.”

Kirk smiled at his partner. “I haven’t forgotten, Spock, but I haven’t decided yet what to write either. Have you?”

“Yes,” Spock replied directly, and let it go at that. “We also have a few last matters to discuss, Admiral, before we leave this room.”

“Yes,” Kirk agreed with a tiny wink to his bond-mate.

And didn’t let it go at that.  
* * * * *

“Warp four,” the Asian helmsman responded to the admiral’s order.

“Thank you, Mister Sulu,” Kirk acknowledged from his bridge chair. The familiar hum of the ship settling into cruising speed vibrated gently beneath his feet. Gradually his gaze encircled the command post: Uhura at her comm board, Leslie at the engineering station, Sulu at the helm, Chekov at navigation. All the same, none changed since a week prior, everyone just as they were.

Everyone… except Kirk.

Even Spock, peering intently up at a screen above his science-station console, showed no sign of his week-long emotion-wrenching Pon Farr, no sign of his intimate communion with Kirk.

An involuntary smile tugged at Kirk’s lips as a wash of excitement quivered through his nerves…. _damn!_ he wanted to get that science officer of his back in bed again tonight. In the briefing room they had finally reached a mutual agreement not to touch until they return to Earth, when they would have three whole months of privacy, time enough to explore the ramifications of this new bonding. And if Kirk had his way, ramifications wouldn’t be the only exploring done. And this time, it would be in Kirk’s own house, in Kirk’s own time, and in Kirk’s own way… _damn_ , he could hardly keep his mind on command duty. This promised to be a very long day… a very long three-and-a-half weeks.

… _Jim_ … Spock's thoughts surfaced through the resonance… _concentrate on the matter at hand of running this ship… your thoughts are distracting me from my duties_ …

… _good_ … Kirk thought to his love-partner, and tossed a grin back toward the science-officer’s station, but Spock was still intent on his screen and not looking in Kirk’s direction… _I hope I distract you a lot today_ …

The resonance was such a strange pleasant sensation, Kirk thought to himself… the weirdest sensation, with Spock's every bit of mental activity open to him, if he allowed it. Already, even before they had ever entered this intimacy, their minds were practically unified anyway. How many times before had they shared thoughts, made decisions the same way at the same time, finished each other’s sentences in conversation… And yet this was different now. Kirk felt Spock’s essence inside himself in a profound manner which he’d never had before. The exchange of thoughts, feelings, sensations through the resonance was more like a very deep mind-meld, except that now their minds were fully awake and alert, not like the hypnotic trance-like state of the meld… _damn, he wanted that first-officer of his!_...

… _Jim… you must shield your thoughts… I cannot do my job… please refrain from such ideas, at least until after shift, and then we shall speak again_ …

… _we’ll do more than speak_ … Kirk teased all-too-devilishly.

And then suddenly, without warning, he felt an unexpected tingle of feather-caress tease the pleasure-center of his brain directly; and the human practically lost his breath right there in his chair. In surprise he snapped a look back at his first-officer, but the Vulcan was still calmly involved with his data-analysis, apparently ignoring the attention of his superior officer.

Unconsciously Kirk’s fingers had gripped the arms of the command chair – _damn! another sensation like that and he’d lose a hell of a lot more that simply his breath!_ – Out of the corner of his eye he saw Uhura looking over at him from her comm-console, face registering a quizzical expression. He wondered if she had any idea of the truth of the situation – and he suspected uncomfortably that she might very well have some pretty solid guesses. Spock was definitely right: there were certain… aspects… of this bonding which could prove extremely distracting at inopportune times.

And this was definitely one of those times.

When they returned to Earth, he and Spock would have a lot to talk about. For now, neither of them was sure what to do about this new complexity.

But they would definitely work something out.

  
* * * * * **FINIS** * * * * *

_“A mystic bond of brotherhood makes all men one.”_

_– Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881)_


End file.
